


I'll Eat You Up, I Love You So

by LullabyKnell



Series: Lullabyknell vs. Naruto [8]
Category: Naruto
Genre: (probably ooc), (sort of), Alternate Canon, Alternate Character Interpretation, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Spirits, Arranged Marriage, Courtship, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Falling In Love, Family Issues, Fantasy, Fluff and Humor, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Male-Female Friendship, Pre-Konoha, Scheming, Senju Clan-centric, Spirits, Supernatural Elements, Uzumaki Clan-centric, Warring States Period (Naruto), Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2018-09-03 09:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8706739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LullabyKnell/pseuds/LullabyKnell
Summary: “Fine,” she said, frowning down at him with her hands full of flowers. “I will not lick you.”
  “Thank you,” Hashirama said, because his mother had raised a polite young man. And polite young men who wanted to live to see tomorrow thanked witches for being nice to them.Warring States AU: Hashirama goes to Uzushio for an arranged marriage and falls in love with a sea witch instead.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sprx77](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprx77/gifts), [Arrowsbane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrowsbane/gifts).



> The premise for this was first created for an Ino/Sakura fic, where Ino goes on a mission and accidentally stumbles into the Festival of Wild Things - a festival for a fairy-court-like host of dangerous fantasy creatures like spirits, witches, summons, etc. Think of this AU like canon, but with fairy tale and mythology things like witches, nymphs, and creatures like enormous, magical, talking foxes who are actually the Lord of (all) Foxes. 
> 
> Many characters/clan remains more or less the same, but many others now have non-human origins or are non-human. The concept of Tailed Beasts does not exist in this AU, although the Tailed Beasts themselves still exist as various Wild Things. (I haven't decided how the Sage of the Six Paths and the Rabbit Goddess exist in this AU yet.) Same characters, more or less, different canon-ish universe. 
> 
> As you can probably see, the premise has managed to turn into a sprawling series of stories. There's so much fun world-building to do before Konoha jounin Yamanaka Ino meets a pretty nymph at a wild party. Konoha as a whole doesn't change all that much in this AU, but it does change a lot when significant characters like Namikaze Minato and Uzumaki Kushina (and many others) aren't at all human. 
> 
> This story is how Konoha and its relationship with the Wild Things first really got started (Konoha doesn't exist yet, but I consider Mito an important part of it), although the Senju Clan is already... acquainted with Wild Things, let's say. The characterization here may be a little... off... as I'm not especially familiar with the characters of this era, nor of Naruto especially, but I had fun and I think you'll have fun.

 “Do it again.”

 Hashirama looked up from where he was crouched, surprised, to see someone standing a little ways behind him on the island’s sandy beach. He wasn’t a particularly skilled sensor, but he still had his senses and he wasn’t so terrible as to allow someone to sneak up on him like this. He would have been dead years ago if he were so unobservant.

 Whatever he had been about to say to the sudden demand died in his throat. His eyes widened as he took in the person who had so easily come up behind him. They appeared to be a stout young woman, but they were like no woman that Hashirama had ever seen before. Her hair was as red as blood, spilled wetly over her shoulders, and tangled down to her knees; her skin was golden-toned and patterned with sun-over-water scales; and her loose dress seemed to be made of lightly shimmering waves and foam. She looked like the sunset behind her had come to life and stepped out of the waves and the wild.  

 “Do it again,” she repeated, in a smooth and low voice.

 Her eyes were pitch black, glinting as they were fixed greedily and suspiciously on the small plant that Hashirama had been coaxing to flower among the sand and grass.

 Hashirama just stared at her for a moment longer – his mouth maybe a little unflatteringly open – because she was such an odd sight, even beyond her colouring and clothing. Her facial features were very sharp, twisted even further by an impatient scowl, and there was a glittering green jewel embedded in the centre of her forehead.

 She finally lifted her black eyes from the plant and glared at him. Her soaked hair shifted with the sharp moment, appearing to lift and stir in the bubbling sort of anger he could barely sense coming off her. She seemed to blend in nearly completely with the salt and crash of the ocean behind her.

 “Do it _again,_ ” she demanded for the third and last time.

 Since Hashirama was not actually a fool, no matter what his brother said, he closed his mouth and looked back to the plant that had apparently started all of this. Then he took in a deep breath, centred himself, and coaxed another flower from it.

 Behind him, he heard bare feet padding over the sand, coming closer as he worked.

 He coaxed a third and fourth flower from the plant, two more for the second and third times she had asked him to repeat his technique. He very resiliently did not move as a wet curtain of red hair draped partly over one of his arms in curiosity, nor did he turn and stare at the wave-turned-cloth that dragged over the sand to spill next to him.

 Once he was finished growing the flowers, he plucked the first one from the plant and looked up, offering it calmly to the woman standing and leaning over him. She blinked at it, at first, then carefully took it from his fingers. Her skin was cool and wet to the touch.

 She looked the flower over curiously, then looked back down at him. “You are like no nymph that I have ever seen before,” she said, reaching out with her free hand to touch his hair. It was loose and wavy at the moment, as he had removed the elegant knot it had been in earlier when he had exchanged his formal robes for something more casual, and she looked fascinated.

 “I’m not a nymph,” Hashirama said simply as the strange woman played with his hair.

 Her brow furrowed as she continued to invade his personal space and hair. Her pearly nails, Hashirama noticed with a faint wince, were very long and very sharp. Almost like claws.

 “You are not a witch of the trees,” she said. “I would know if another witch were walking on my coast. What kind of strange spirit are you, then, if you are neither a nymph nor a witch?”

 Hashirama stared, his heart bounding warily inside his chest, and said, “I’m a man.”

 “A man?” she repeated sceptically, her nails tracing dangerously around one of his ears, her black eyes glinting suspiciously. “I have not heard of men able to hear the whispers of green things. You cannot be human. Men do not have the power to grow trees and flowers.”

 “I do and I am,” Hashirama said as calmly as he could.

 “Nonsense, you must have a tree spirit or a nymph for a parent.”

 Hashirama tried to reconcile his father with the flowery creatures commonly depicted in stories, occasionally sighted flitting through the forests and splashing in streams, and found that he could not do it. His late mother was far less difficult to imagine as a nature spirit, but she too had been very human, despite her rebellious streak of collecting and caring for those that weren’t.

 “I assure you that I am wholly human, as my parents before me, and theirs before them,” Hashirama promised. He had never thought being forced to memorize the family tree would ever be good for anything, but against this blood-haired wild woman, he was thankful for it.

 The woman tilted her head, squinting down at him. Beyond casually touching him and invading his space, she was now uncomfortably close, leaning against him and… sniffing at him? She smelled overwhelmingly like the ocean itself, like the salt water was forever stuck to her, so much so that the stink of it was making his head a little dizzy.

 Senju Hashirama, crouched and cornered on the sand by a possibly non-human woman, froze and then _squeaked_ as she bent forward and licked his face from his chin to his brow. She pulled back and he stared up at her, aghast, as she licked and smacked her lips as though considering the taste of him. He had not had the opportunity to notice before, but he saw now that her tongue was forked like a snake’s and her teeth were as sharp as a shark’s.

 “You are human,” she said finally, sounding surprised about it. Then she peered down at him again and noted, “Your face is turning very red. I did not think I had any traces of poison on my tongue.”

 Hashirama tried to speak, he really did, but all he could manage was a squawk. She leaned forward again, as though to inspect him for poison or lick him again, and Hashirama fell back on his ass in his scramble to lean away from her. She blinked down at him, obviously confused.

 “You can’t just _lick_ people!” Hashirama said.

 She tilted her head and scowled. “Whyever not?”

 Hashirama stared at her, bewildered, and tried to think of a concise and logical way to explain that it just _wasn’t done_ , despite having already let her invade his space and play with his hair. _He_ didn’t actually mind; he was very used to being licked by spirits actually. But it was still rude and he just didn’t think he could handle having an enchanting, attractive, very shapely non-human woman lick him again.

 “Among humans, it’s considered impolite to invade someone’s space and touch them without their permission,” Hashirama explained from his seat in the sand. “It makes them uncomfortable. Licking isn’t something we… do. Unless, you know, married or something. And even then you have to ask.”

 The woman stared down at him, squinting suspiciously, then took a step and loomed over him, neck craning. Her bloody hair draped wetly over his knees, her long dress dripping imperiously on his toes. Her pose was, if not distinctly inhuman, then extremely and intentionally predatory. She still held the small white flower delicately in one near-clawed hand.

 Hashirama wondered what it meant that his face was burning. The bottoms of his feet itched.  

 “You let me touch you before,” she said, displeased. “Why is your comfort or human politeness any mind of mine? You are on my beach. I am a witch, I do what I please.”

 Hashirama swallowed roughly and said, “I would prefer if you did not, please.”

 She frowned at him some more, but then she finally leaned back and stood tall. She was not actually by any means tall, she could have only been an inch or two over five feet, though she was plump and quite muscular. If Hashirama were on his own feet, he would tower over her by at least two heads – in broadness and height combined, he was possibly twice her size – but he had a feeling that she would have managed to look imperiously down at him and make him feel small nevertheless.

 “If you do not want me to lick you, you should not trespass on my mother’s territory, and you should make some effort to actually stop me,” she said decisively. “But I will acquiesce to your pitiful request for mercy… for now. What will you give me in exchange?”

 There were many stories and warnings told of witches. Hashirama had not been excused from them, especially because he had been a child that had always delighted in hearing of the spirits and wild things that dwelled around them. Witches were perhaps the rarest, most dangerous, and most powerful kind of non-human being out there. They were magical demons, myths said, that ruled vast stretches of land and spirits. They could accomplish miracles and nightmares with a wave of their hand, they were largely solitary and easily offended, and they always demanded a price in exchange for what they gave.

 Hashirama had never expected to encounter a witch who looked and acted like a bratty princess. He was fairly certain that they were supposed to be tall and terribly beautiful, or hunched and hideously warty, not stout and dripping wet and odd-looking in a sort of demonic but sort of pretty way.

 Slowly, Hashirama reached out and plucked the remaining three flowers from the sad beach plant that he’d been playing with. He offered them silently to the young witch scowling at him and watched as her expression turned to one of faint surprise. She took the flowers from him, her long nails scraping a little over his skin, and for a moment stared disbelievingly down at their small white petals.

 “Fine,” she said, frowning down at him with her hands full of flowers. “I will not lick you.”

 “Thank you,” Hashirama said, because his mother had raised a polite young man.

 Polite young men who wanted to live to see tomorrow thanked witches for being nice to them. They did not ask witches to please lick them as much as they wanted, nor did they stare at the loose neckline of their dresses where every scaled-patterned bit of skin from their lovely collarbone to the swell of their breasts to the smoothness of their chubby stomach was very visible. Polite young men, even if they noticed they could nearly see a witch’s belly-button, did not stare at anywhere besides the witch’s face.

 They stared at each other for a long moment, Hashirama fallen on the sand and the witch staring down at him, flowers in her near-clawed hands. The moment was only broken when, far off in the distance, from the compound in the nearby village, the bong and chime of bells began to sound over the beach and waves. It was nine o’clock in the evening now. The sun was almost gone over the ocean horizon, disappearing off into the west where the main continent lay far out of sight, leaving Uzushio’s main island to shadow and weak lavender-touched light.

 After the last of the chimes had been swallowed by the darkening sea, Hashirama mustered up his bravery and said, “I have to return to my family now. My father bid me return before dark.”

 The witch watched him, expression unreadable, then finally stepped away from him. “It is unwise for men to venture from their dwelling after dark,” she said. “You have been interesting, Man of Trees and Flowers; your existence is nonsense. Return to your human kin, lest you meet and be made uncomfortable by less polite spirits than me.”

 Hashirama carefully pushed himself up and to his feet, unsurprised to find that he really was much taller and larger than the witch. He potentially could have picked her up with one arm, had she not been walking away from him and had he been inclined to lose his arm and his life. Even if that threat did not exist, though, he did not think he would have had the courage to interrupt her. She seemed to float over the sand, her footprints being washed away by the waves that tugged at the train of her dress, her red hair flowing in the breeze that was beginning to blow in from the sea.

 He made the mistake of looking away for a moment, over to the village on the horizon where he would be expected by his father and brother. When he looked back, the red-haired witch was gone. The only trace of her were some few small footprints, which were quickly chewed away by the waves.

~

 It was pitch black outside by the time Hashirama made it back to the guest houses that the Senju had been given by their hosts. Uzushio’s main island’s largest village was alight with torches, the island’s sky filled with thousands of stars, and the Uzumaki compound’s bells had just tolled ten o’clock in the evening. There was some laughter and life still on the streets, especially after the welcoming festivities earlier, but there was a feeling of warm exhaustion as people clearly settled down for the night.

 Tobirama was waiting for him just inside, settled into the main guest house’s sitting area with a fuinjutsu book that Hashirama dearly hoped his younger, still-teenage brother had borrowed with the owner’s permission. It was almost relieving to go through this familiar scene again, coming home to have one of his brothers waiting up for him, but the experience mostly just felt jarringly incorrect, because despite Tobirama having helped himself to someone else’s books as usual, he looked entirely, carefully, stiffly human. By that clue alone Hashirama knew they were far from home and comfort.

 Tobirama only looked up once Hashirama had slid the door shut behind him. Hashirama was well-used to being under his younger brother’s narrowed and unnervingly red gaze, and it was hardly comparable with the glinting dark gaze of the witch, so he ignored Tobirama and went about removing his sandals.

 “Your lord father called for your presence earlier,” Tobirama said finally.

 Hashirama very carefully did not sigh at that. He had known that his father would be looking for him when he escaped for a walk along the beach, but it was unpleasant to have it confirmed. And it was disheartening to hear that Tobirama really was quarrelling with Father again. It was always “your father” or “Butsuma” when the two were managing to ignore each other, but it was always “your _lord_ father” or “Lord Senju” when Tobirama was newly displeased with their clan leader.

 “Oh?” Hashirama said, feigning surprise. “What about?”

 Tobirama’s unimpressed expression said very clearly that he did not believe for an instant Hashirama did not know what about. “Your lord father wishes to ensure that you will follow through with this foolish human arranged marriage alliance. He was not pleased or reassured when you fled immediately after our welcoming feast.”

  _I was not pleased when you fled and left me to deal with him,_ Hashirama internally translated.

 “I’m sorry, Tobi,” he said.

 “And for what exactly are you apologizing?” Tobirama said unhappily, raising his book again in a clear picture of a snub. “What have you done recently that you would need to apologize for?”

 Hashirama did sigh this time and crossed the room to sit next to his younger brother. “I’m sorry for leaving you alone to deal with my father; I know you don’t get along with him and it’s not your responsibility to cover for me. I just… needed some air.”

 Tobirama sniffed, but obligingly leaned against his elder brother in acceptance of the apology. Instead of continuing this thread of conversation as he nuzzled against Hashirama’s neck, however, Tobirama sneezed – high-pitched and adorable, like a kitten – and then he sneezed again. Hashirama’s younger brother immediately pulled away from him, sneezing once more, and frowned fiercely at him.

 “You _stink!_ ” Tobirama barked.

 Hashirama’s adoring smile disappeared and he lifted his shirt to sniff at it. “I do not!”

 “You stink like salt water! What did you do, try and _drown yourself?_ ”

 “No! Why would I do that?”

 “Because you’re a clumsy fool!” Tobirama snapped, moving farther away, actually putting a hand over his nose. “Do you really hate your betrothed so much that you have to roll in dead fish to drive her away? There have to be more efficient ways of ending your outdated human mating systems.”

 “I don’t smell like dead fish! And no! It’s…. Princess Katsumi’s…” Hashirama searched for a positive word, but it was hard to find among the sheer disinterest he had in this arrangement. “…Alright.”

 “Mates should not be ‘alright’,” Tobirama said, before hiding his face in a throw pillow stitched with sea shells. His next words were muffled but still understandable: “The Uzumaki are reasonable, have more to gain from this alliance than we, and the woman has about as much interest in you as you do her. They would happily be our allies without this foolish and unnecessary marriage that your lord father is demanding. _Why do you stink?_ ”

 “I don’t stink!” Hashirama protested, sniffing again at his clothing. He really didn’t; he didn’t know what Tobirama’s sensitive nose was picking up, but he couldn’t catch a whiff of it.

 “Yes, you do.”

 “I don’t! And marriages are a way to ensure that alliances are upheld and will be upheld for generations by uniting two families in their children,” Hashirama said, wishing very dearly that he believed what he was saying. “Ideally, marriages would be made for love and alliances for peace, honour, and friendship, but a marriage of peace, honour, and friendship is not a bad thing.”

 “That might be a marriage worth having,” Tobirama muttered against his pillow. “This is a marriage of power, obligation, and disinterested acquaintances. Marriages between families have not prevented feuding; sometimes it makes _more_ feuding.”

 “Brother…”

 “Insist to your lord father that you don’t want to go through with this,” Tobirama said, glaring. “This alliance does not need to be built on resentment and obligation.”

 “What I want isn’t important here, Brother,” Hashirama sighed. “You know that this alliance is what’s best for the clan, we need this too, and Father will never trust an alliance without something he considers substantial. Personal just... isn’t always the same as important.”

 Tobirama stared, then looked away, finally lowering the pillow into his lap. “I don’t want you to be unhappy,” he said quietly. “I have seen enough of marriages made of power and obligation and disinterest; I would not wish the same unhappiness that Mother’s marriage had on you and your bride. You deserve love and friendship and trust, at the very least.”

 “Oh, Tobi,” Hashirama said sadly, before he filled his voice with all the reassurance and love in his heart. “Don’t worry about me. The princess is kind and strong and wise, and things like love may grow with time. This is a step towards peace, and you know that is all I have ever wanted.”

 Tobirama still did not look reassured, nor did he look up towards his elder brother again. He looked frustrated and unhappy, perhaps even lost in memories of their childhood before their mother had passed away. Hashirama’s parents had not loved each other, they had not liked each other, and they had barely respected one another if at all. It had been obvious to all the inner members of their clan and it had not made for a good example of a happy, or even healthy or functional or _faithful_ , marriage.

 “So long as you are safe and happy, so long as our clan is safe and happy, I will be happy too,” Hashirama promised. “I will try to speak to Father, but there are worse fates than marriage to a beautiful Uzumaki princess, you know.” He tried to say this last bit jokingly, but the sad attempt at humour fell flat between them.

 They both knew that it was extremely unlikely that Hashirama’s father would release him from this arranged marriage. And even if the Senju held the advantageous position in this alliance, for Hashirama to demand an end to the nearly entirely settled arrangement now might deeply insult his hosts and his bride-to-be, as well as dishonour his father, his elders, and his clan. Hashirama could insist, he even had the sheer strength to get what he wanted, but not without facing severe consequences. It was far too late, really, to change things, and deep inside, both Hashirama and his brother knew that Hashirama would not be leaving this island without a wife.

 After a few moments, Tobirama sighed and reached out to collect his fallen book. He dropped the pillow and got to his feet, clearly finished with this conversation and ready to go to bed. “You still deserve better than obligation, Brother,” he said finally, turning to leave the room. “And please do not try and drown yourself again, you really do stink.”

 Hashirama squawked indignantly. Even for his brother, this was a poor joke! “I do not!”

 “Do too,” Tobirama said, without looking back.

 Hashirama scowled after him and after his younger brother had disappeared, sniffed at himself and his clothing again. He couldn’t smell a thing. All of Uzushio smelled of the ocean, if you asked him, and Tobirama hadn’t said a word of complaint before now.

 He wondered if it had anything to do with the witch. He’d forgotten to mention her to Tobirama, partly because he wasn’t in the mood for the furious lecture on recklessness and foolishness that his teenage brother would have given him. Perhaps he’d tell Tobirama tomorrow. He really didn’t want to hear that lecture, but how many people could say they’d met a witch and given her flowers?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this chapter seems short or cut-off, that's because the second chapter that I naturally wrote became far too long, so I had to cut it in half. The second half of this chapter is more or less entirely done and should be along in a day or so if you'd prefer to wait for the resolution or read a complete chapter arch. 
> 
> WARNING for mentions/implications of abuse in this chapter. Not between Hashirama and Mito (of course not, will never ever happen), but between Hashirama (and Tobirama) and his father (around canon levels of their relationship, I think). The incident between them is missing, but the scene before it builds up tension and the next scene follows Hashirama in the aftermath of their confrontation, where he is injured.  
> It should be known that there will be a lot of family issues brought up in this fic, which for Hashirama include arguments getting physical, emotional abuse/neglect, the whole child soldiers situation, and so on. I have no plans to make the abuse explicit or give it more than an off-screen presence, and this story will be mostly lighthearted and about healing and protectiveness and the feelings around a beautiful relationship being built, but the abusive family situation is still going to remain fairly present and relevant. It's not going to stand, of course, but if you're uncomfortable with the whole thing, then I think you should know that it is there right now.

 Hashirama awoke the next morning and was immediately led by one of his clansmen to a private breakfast for Lord Senju and his two “sons”. The advisers, elders, guards, and other members of the Senju party were to eat separately and be met with later. Hashirama could not remember the last time his father had actually dined with them outside of necessary events, which Tobirama and Itama did not like and were not invited to attend, and despaired at his prospects of surviving this morning intact.

 Senju Butsuma really wasn’t pleased that his heir had fled for solitude as soon as possible, which he made no point in hiding or skirting around, but he hadn’t actually had anything to say to Hashirama last night and was mollified by Hashirama’s quiet affirmation to his demand if Hashirama was taking this alliance seriously. So Lord Senju’s genuine rage was quickly replaced by one of his more common foul moods, this one more inclined to demanding silence so he could ignore his son’s presence and late wife’s adopted child’s existence at the table. He was not a morning person.

 (He was not an evening person either, honestly.)

 It was a good thing that Itama had stayed at home for this trip, because Hashirama and Tobirama’s anxious brother would have been wrecked by the severity of the silence over the breakfast table.

 Tobirama spent the meal switching between glaring at Hashirama and glaring at Hashirama’s father. He was entirely and uncomfortably human-looking again, as was necessary for any sort of peace with their clan leader, but he was clearly unimpressed and unhappy with Hashirama not immediately trying to discuss not going through the arranged marriage part of the alliance.

 Hashirama spent most of the meal afraid that Tobirama was going to bluntly bring up the matter himself and start an argument on his behalf, but thankfully, he did not. Hashirama’s younger brother seemed to recognize that the extremely-unlikely-to-succeed task and the foul-mooded clan leader were things that Hashirama had to face himself. Hashirama spent most of the meal both extremely grateful and entirely, morbidly sure that Tobirama would soon find a way to force the issue nevertheless if Hashirama did not do something himself.

 Even Tobirama and Butsuma’s attempts at basic civil discussion, which neither of them were inclined to have, could end with shouting and near-violence. Complex political debate from Tobirama now, when they were already in one of their quarrels, would surely go even more terribly than any other time Tobirama reminded Butsuma that he existed and despised him. Hashirama’s father was nothing if not obstinate and thin-skinned and prideful, Tobirama was stubborn and sharp-tongued and spiteful, and it was not a good combination for anything less than potentially murderous flaming rows.

 As breakfast was coming to a close, signalled by Hashirama’s father finishing his meal, Tobirama was now just glaring very pointedly at his elder brother. Hashirama took this as a sign that he had to fulfil his promise to his younger brother now or _else._ So he took a deep breath, inwardly cursed the fact that he had such a wonderful sibling who had followed him across countries in steadfast support despite not wanting to leave, and turned to face his father.

 This wasn’t going to end well.

 ~

 Hashirama sat alone on the sandy beach, by the swaying grass and the same small plant he’d been coaxing to grow yesterday, and he stared out towards the crashing waves and late afternoon sun. His legs were crossed and his arms were in his lap, almost like he was meditating, but his eyes were wide open and his hands were clenched around the ribbon that he’d yanked out of his hair.

 There was a strong breeze coming in from the sea, pressing questioningly against the tear tracks on his cheeks and the deep pain of the left side of his face. His face would surely be swollen and dark with bruises by tomorrow morning. It hurt to move his face at all, which meant it hurt when his lips quivered and his breath shuddered and eyes watered again at the embarrassing reminder that the earlier incident had left him distressed to the point of tears. He had faced greater pains than this, he thought, but the sea’s breeze pressed against the wetness and ache of his face nevertheless.

 His discussion with his father had not ended well.

 Hashirama had known, really, that his promise to Tobirama had been a foolish and useless one. Senju Butsuma was not a man to be argued or reasoned with. He had a very particular idea of respect and no tolerance for being disrespected – not in any form. Especially not by his flighty and fool-hearted heir at the prompting of his hated wife’s ward. 

 Though Hashirama had intentionally taken the brunt of his father’s anger and blame when things had begun to go badly, he knew it was Tobirama who would suffer more. Not just because Butsuma would take any excuse to despise Tobirama more and it had long since been made clear that the only real way to get to Hashirama was through his brothers, but because of misplaced guilt.

 After the incident, after Butsuma had angrily dismissed them and left for a meeting with his advisors and the clan elders, Hashirama had tried to assure Tobirama that this was not such a big thing, but it had backfired. Tobirama had been horrified, furious, and angry at himself for daring to hope, weighed down by guilt and absolutely unwilling to let himself be comforted by his elder brother. He had almost immediately disappeared into his guest room, hackles raised and tail swishing.

 Given the conditions Tobirama had agreed to when he forced his way onto this trip to support his elder brother, Hashirama doubted anyone would be seeing any sign of Tobirama for the next day or so at least. Not that anyone would care save Hashirama, sadly. The only living others that his younger brother really interacted with and considered _family_ instead of simply clan had stayed home.

 Yes, Hashirama could insist on dissolving the arrangement all he wanted, but the consequences would be swift and severe for him and everyone he cared about. He was strong enough to succeed, but too weak to bear it. Today had proved that, if nothing else.

 Hashirama sat on the beach and stared at the ocean, and he wished very dearly that he could go back to being a child on the bank of a river again. He wished that he had someone to talk to who understood him. He wished that he once again had someone who saw the unforgiveable flaws in their world clearly and refused to ignore them, dedicated themselves to changing them, and yet also understood the heavy weight of inheritance.

 Hashirama sat and wondered what Madara – his old, distant, near-lost friend – was doing, across all the wave and the wild between them. They had not really spoken since their friendship was discovered and their fathers each tried to use them for their own ends, but Hashirama often still wondered what Madara would have to say about things and imagined as best he could. Now, for example, Madara would presumably say something that was horribly, unsympathetically scathing about how unlucky Uzumaki Katsumi was to have to marry a flaky dolt like Hashirama.

 A wave broke and broke Hashirama out of imagined quips in a spot-on memory of his friend’s voice. It was enormous, at least thrice as tall and wide as any of the others, and crashed down very loudly. Hashirama watched as it rumbled and tumbled its way up the beach, reaching so far up the sand that the last, quietened dregs of it nipped at his sandals and gobbled at the grass before slipping back towards the sea. The next few waves didn’t come a quarter as close, just like all the waves before the strange outlier. It was very curious.

 “You are crying,” a smooth, low voice said matter-of-factly.

 Hashirama yelped and sand went flying as he threw himself away from the person all of a sudden standing next to him. He might not have had either of his brothers’ sensitive noses or Tobirama’s keen and far-reaching chakra senses, but he was _not this bad,_ he would _swear._

 Thankfully, he caught himself before he reacted on his instincts of self-defensive violence. Instead, Hashirama merely looked up with widened eyes, a heaving chest, and bewildered shock at the voice’s owner for the second time in less than a day.

 It was a familiar stout young woman with golden scale-patterned skin and a sharp face twisted in an intensely peering expression – her black eyes and the green jewel embedded in her forehead both gleamed at him – and a perpetual wild look about her. Her blood red hair was now half-tied-up in two loose buns on either side of her head, the rest of the wet curls tangling down to her waist, and she wore another loose, soaked dress that resembled the sandgrass if it were a nearly sheer fabric. She was still barefoot, too, sand caked to her shins and dusted all over the rest of her.

 The witch looked down at him, clearly thoroughly unimpressed with his reaction. She raised her eyebrows at him at first, before her unimpressed disbelief turned to something that made her frown very deeply. Her pitch black eyes fixed on the left side of his face, suspicious and displeased.

 “What happened to your face, Man of Trees and Flowers?”

 “Ahh, nothing much,” Hashirama said, more surprised than anything else. “Should I… not be here?”

 The witch’s displeasure was tucked away and a curious head tilt was added to her expression. “Why should you not be here?” she asked. “Should you be somewhere else?”

 Well, technically Hashirama should have been touring the village and island with his betrothed, but the Princess Katsumi had been indisposed for unknown reasons today. The Uzumaki clansman had demurred something about the feast the night before, but none of the Senju had really been listening after the argument between Hashirama and his father earlier, which likely would have changed all their plans anyway. Hashirama doubted his first time spending time with his wife-to-be should be with a black eye and bruised face.

 “No,” Hashirama said. “I was only wondering if… I was intruding on your beach. No one of the Uzumaki Clan told me that this beach was so often frequented by a witch.”

 Although, given the general jovial air of the Uzumaki Clan, which Hashirama admittedly enjoys and identifies with very strongly, he doesn’t think he’d be all that surprised if the Uzumaki had just sort of forgotten to warn their visitors that spirits regularly and frequently stalked their island’s beaches. Witches, despite being the rarest and most powerful sort of wild spirit, for all Hashirama knew, might be considered only an occupational hazard here in Uzushio.

 _Like hurricanes,_ Hashirama thought.

 The witch sniffed, looking down her nose at him. “It is not. I have _far better_ things to do with my time than waste my time away on this tiny beach and bother myself by dealing with mortal men,” she said, offended. “This is indeed a part of my coast – a small, _small_ part of one of my several coasts – but I have given you temporary permission to be here, so you are not intruding.”

 “Oh… thank you,” Hashirama said, because his mother had raised a polite young man who knew better than to take witches’ kindnesses for granted. He didn’t remember being given any sort of permission, but he supposed the fact that he was still alive was probably permission enough.

 “Now, what happened to your face?” the witch demanded again, squinting down at him. “The discolouring is becoming hideous and I expected better of a man who hears the whispers of green things. You should take better care of your appearance, as it is beginning to seem it is all you have.”

 Hashirama stared at her, taking the words in, and then furrowed his brow, trying and mostly failing to understand them. He knew from vast experience when someone was scolding him and calling him a fool who should know better, but… had… had the witch just called him _handsome?_ A brainless and helpless handsome fool with a hideous bruise, clearly, but _still._ Hashirama usually knew a back-handed compliment when he heard one, given the company he kept, and that had sounded exactly like one.

 “I am waiting,” the witch said, displeased.

 “Ah, sorry. I… was sparring with my father this morning,” Hashirama explained cautiously. It was true, depending on one’s definition of sparring – an argument could be called a verbal spar.

 Hashirama could even honestly say that, again given the company he kept, between his unimpressed brother and his annoyed friend and his embittered cousins, he had born witness to attempted murder in verbal form before. Sometimes, he could have sworn they all got secret lessons in the fine art of verbal assassination, lessons which he was unfairly not invited to for some reason.

 “Sparring,” the witch said.

 Hashirama peered up at her, confused by the flatness of her tone. “Uh, it’s where two people-”

 “I know what sparring is!” the witch snapped, her blood-red hair shifting, her gold-dark skin steaming ever-so-slightly in the beginnings of a dangerous anger. “Do you think me a fool?”

 “I’m sorry!” Hashirama apologized immediately, eyes wide. He felt torn between fight and flight. Oh, this wasn’t good. Was he going to die? This was a _witch,_ so was this going to be how he died? Running his foul mouth like everyone said? Oops. “Of course I don’t, I’m very sorry. I was just confused and thought wrongly.”

 The witch’s anger dissipated almost instantly, though it took her another few seconds to physically untwist her features and tension. She stared at him and Hashirama stared back, chest tight and feet ready to take flight. Then she lifted her chin, straightened her shoulders, and…

 “Your pitiful apology is graciously accepted,” she said haughtily.

 “Oh,” Hashirama said weakly, relief rushing cold through his veins. “Thank you.”

 The witch stared at him for a moment longer, then she did something incredible: she _sighed._ Her bare shoulders drooped, her posture slumped, and she broke the stare first so that she could, for a moment, look out into the seawards distance. Her expression was blank, terrifyingly empty, and Hashirama looked up at the stout witch standing next to him with tightly-contained trepidation.

 After several seconds passed, Hashirama followed her far gaze and searched the ocean’s horizon for whatever she was staring at. He couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Not at all.

 He only very barely managed to contain his shriek of surprise when the witch all of a sudden took a swift, elegant seat beside him on the sand. She sat as prettily as any noble lady, her bare toes tucked underneath her while her wet, tangled hair and loose seagrass dress dragged messily through the sand. He stared at her, wide-eyed, and tried to understand what was happening.

 “I am not going to kill you,” she said.

 Hashirama was a bit busy being very wide-eyed, still mildly terrified, and thinking again about how short the witch actually was now that she’d sat down next to him, though her presence had dimmed not at all. But he still managed to say, “Oh?”

 That was good. Probably.

 “Yes,” the witch said, still looking out towards the sea. One of her pearl-claw hands slid off her lap to scratch and flex in the sand. “I am not so wicked a witch to kill men for no reason. Should you cross me or insult me, Man of Trees and Flowers, intentionally, then I will have reason, but for now… You are curious nonsense and I am bored.”

 “Oh,” Hashirama said. “Um… okay.”

 Witches, according to the warning legends, were nightmarishly powerful magical demons and the loose rulers of vast numbers of other spirits. Hashirama did not really know what to think about one using him for temporary entertainment. There were quite a lot of warning legends about what spirits thought of as entertainment involving mortals, like haunting tricks and ruinous tragedy – there were quite a lot of terrible things that could be done without killing someone.

 But Hashirama, while still wary and mildly terrified, did not think that would be the case here. Perhaps it was arrogant, perhaps it was foolish, but he had a fairly good sense for people and for danger, he had… some experience with nonhumans, and now that he was not panicking, he did not think that the witch would do anything worse than perhaps make him grow more flowers for her amusement.

 Honestly, she reminded him very strongly of Tobirama. It was in the lift of her chin, the stiffness of her posture, and the distance of her gaze. She held herself with regal dignity, as though trying to offset the fact that she was short and not too far from being tucked against his side, and he could not help but remember her surprised expression when he had offered her flowers. Nor could he forget the gentleness with which she’d taken and held them.

 He did, however, wonder with tight panic if he was making an enormous mistake when after a long moment of sitting in silence together, the witch’s face screwed up. Her jewelled brow furrowed, her nose crinkled, and her lips frowned as she took in a deep breath through her nose. Then another. Then she looked at him with a fierce scowl.

 “What is that _smell_?” she demanded.

 “Um, what?” Hashirama said, wary and confused. This seemed familiar.  

 “That smell!” the witch snapped, breaking her perfect pose and moving to her knees so she could further invade his space. She sniffed at his neck and shoulders, not even an inch away from actually being pressed against the length of his side. Her pearly claws took firm hold of his shirt collar and her forked tongue flicked quickly in and out as though tasting the air.

 Hashirama held himself perfectly still, too stunned to move. Some whimpering part of himself, which was also very concerned with not looking down the absurdly deep neckline of the witch’s very loose dress, tried to comfort itself with the consolation that at least she wasn’t actually licking him. On one hand, he didn’t think he’d mind all that much since gods knew he’d been licked very frequently throughout his life, but on the other hand, it was probably best she didn’t, because she was not one of his brothers giving into the urge to lovingly and platonically groom him and he was all too aware of that.

 She stilled smelled overwhelmingly like the ocean, almost dizzyingly so.

 Just when it looked like the witch might actually climb into his lap, she pulled back and glared at him. Her sharp nails still did not release him, though. For some reason, the bottoms of his feet itched.

 “You smell like _cat!_ ” she said. “Why do you smell like _cat?_ ”

 Hashirama was confused, because he had seen cats around Uzushio, but he hadn’t yet had the opportunity to pet any of them. He certainly hadn’t been around any of them long enough to smell significantly of cat. So if he smelled of anything, he then realized, it would be of the _other_ kind of cat.

 “Oh, that’s probably my brother,” he said.

 The witch stared at him, her grip on his shirt loosening as she sat back a little further. Her hands did not leave him, though, her warm fingers rested casually on his chest instead.

 “Your brother,” she said flatly. “Your brother is a cat.”

 “Well… yes,” Hashirama said, because it was true, even if it sounded strange said aloud.

 In fact, he didn’t think he’d ever had the opportunity to say it aloud before, actually, since the exact nature of the late Lady Senju’s strange ward was not spoken of or widely shared even amongst the clan. Hashirama's father hated any reminder of Tobirama and to question where Tobirama came from tended to bring up some uncomfortable questions about Itama as well, which Hashirama’s father didn’t like either.

 “He’s adopted,” Hashirama tried and failed to explain. He quailed a little under the witch’s unimpressed glare, but he didn’t exactly want to go into detail. “It’s… sort of a family secret, actually. Would you mind… not telling anyone, please?”

 The witch tilted her head, thoughtful expressions crossing her face as she considered this, then she said decisively, “I doubt anyone would believe me that a spirit, especially a cat spirit, had been adopted by men. But I will acquiesce to your request for now. What will you give me in exchange?”

 “Uh, flowers?” Hashirama offered, lifting a hand towards the small plant beside him.

 The witch leaned to the side and saw the plant again, her dark eyes fixing on it with a faintly unnerving glint, and then she nodded agreeably. “That would be acceptable,” she said grandly, before rushing to demand, as though he might argue if she did not say it fast enough, “I want five. Large ones.”

 “Okay,” Hashirama said.

 He carefully pulled a little away from the witch, wary of offending her, to hold his hands over the small plant and focus on it. He needn’t have worried though, because the witch’s gaze was focused entirely on the plant and she followed him, shifting through the sand to lean over his lap. She was almost sitting on him, keeping herself balanced by her hands still on him, and her hair and dress dripped on him. He didn’t complain, because he knew better.

 Hashirama coaxed five flowers from the poor plant, which likely would not have flowered at all had he not come along, making each one as large as the witch’s palms resting against his chest. Once he had them, he plucked the carefully up and slowly turned.

 The witch followed him back, sitting back into a kneeling position and letting her hands drop from his chest. Her dark eyes were focused eagerly on the flowers in his hand and, just for a moment, Hashirama thought he saw something like the beginning of a delighted smile cross her face as he offered them to her. She took them with the same delicacy she had before, her long nails scraping a little over his skin, and moved off her knees. The witch sat back fully into the sand with a very pleased, almost smug expression, as she glowingly admired the white petals she now hoarded in her scale-patterned hands. 


	3. Chapter 3

 “Thank you,” Hashirama said to her, because she had not needed to accept such a small thing as a gift and his mother had raised a polite young man. Then, because his mother had not been able to prevent him from being a very curious young man, he asked, “Do you have any siblings?”

 The witch looked up and blinked at him, expression unreadable for a moment, before she said, “Eight.”

 It was Hashirama’s turn to blink. “Pardon me?”

 “I have eight siblings, all younger sisters. I am the eldest.”

 Hashirama stared, wide-eyed, and tried to reconcile this statement with reality. He knew that non-shinobi families tended to be that large or larger, but Hashirama and his brothers, once four in total and now three, were considered a large family for shinobi, especially since they were at war with their neighbouring clans. He tried to imagine a family of at least ten _witches,_ counting the aforementioned mother, and it… took a moment.

 “That, um, must be a very crowded house,” Hashirama said finally.

 The witch looked at him strangely. “We do not live together in one large house,” she said, as though she could not imagine such a thing. “I know mortals live very differently, but we witches do not tend to live in close proximity to one another.”

 “Why not?” Hashirama asked. “Do you not get along?”

 “Usually, no, we do not,” the witch said. “I do not like it when other witches trespass on my territory, if they are not here to kill me for my coasts and coves, then they _meddle_ with things that do not belong to them. What’s mine is _mine._ There can rarely be more than one ruler in any given court.”

 The sea’s breeze seemed to pick up at that moment, still pressing questioningly at the deep ache and sharp pain in Hashirama’s face. But even beyond that, he could name countless times where he and his father had clashed over patrols and missions and treaties, where their decisions and opinions differed over how and where to lead the clan. It had been getting worse as worse lately, as Hashirama did and was supposed to take more responsibility as the heir, and sometimes Hashirama worried over the invisible line he thought he could see being drawn through their clan.

 If worse came to worse, if they finally reached the breaking point, who would the Senju chose? Hashirama did not think it was him. At least, not yet. He was working on that.

 “That’s very true,” he said. “So your sisters have coasts of their own, off in other countries?”

 That sounded much less frightening than a large coven of magical demons all together.

 A dark shadow crossed the witch’s face at the question, startling Hashirama’s heart into a thrumming beat. Her blood red hair seemed to shift on its own again, in the beginnings of anger, and the green jewel embedded in her forehead glittered a little brighter. Her pearly nails seemed to lengthen, her fingers curling dangerously around the flowers in her grip for a moment, threatening to crush them, before she appeared to remember them.

 With a silent sigh, she slackened her fingers and gently rearranged the flowers in her grip. The tension leaked out of her shoulders and the sharp glint left her dark eyes. She looked out towards the ocean horizon again, staring out distantly.

 “No,” she said shortly. “My sisters covet the same stretch of sea – all but one of them, the youngest, do – and they fight over who should have it. They are warring. Their bickering is making a very bloody mess and it is becoming embarrassing.”

 “What’s so special about this stretch?” Hashirama asked, morbidly curious.

 The witch turned to look at him again, as though trying to gut ulterior motives out of him with her dark eyes, before she relented and said, “It is a very old part of the sea and is said to hold many wonders and horrors. Mother believes it unwise to disturb the waters and its secrets, but my sisters are foolish and greedy, and there are stories of the eye to unfathomable power hidden in the fathoms.”

 Hashirama tried to come up with something to say to this, struggling to quash all the curious questions rising up lest he offend the witch. He had always loved myths and legends like these. Before he could come up with polite wording to any of what he wanted to know, a wry sort of expression crossed the witch’s face.

 “It is sort of a family secret. Mind that you do not tell anyone,” she said, almost playfully.

 Hashirama blinked at her, then could not stop the delighted smile bubbling up from inside his chest. “I will be mindful,” he promised. “Are you not tempted, then, by unfathomable power?”

 The witch lifted her chin, shoulders straightening. “I am more than powerful enough as I am, Man of Trees and Flowers, and you would do well to remember it,” she said archly. Then she softened and admitted, “I was tempted. If my sisters had not sought to claim it first, I might have gone looking, but now I wonder if there is a darkness in those waters. Something old and wicked.”

 “Do you think it has influenced your sisters?” Hashirama asked softly.

 The witch looked at him, sharply.

 “I’m sorry!” Hashirama said immediately, explaining himself, “I only ask because… My clan has been at war with many other clans for generations, especially one in particular, and sometimes it seems as though there will never be an end to the bloodshed. I have wondered, before, if there is a curse hanging over us, made of old hatred and encouraging endless vengeance. It… seems like it… sometimes.”

 There was a long moment of silence between them, before the witch said, “It seems like it sometimes. I have wondered.” She looked away from Hashirama, down to the white flowers held delicately in her pearly claws. “But then I wonder if I am making excuses for them. Perhaps they really are simply so consumed in their search for power, for supremacy, that they enjoy making violence.”

 “Oh,” Hashirama said, a vice quietly seizing his chest.

 That sounded very familiar.

 “I have wondered similar things,” he admitted, when the witch did not immediately continue. “But I have hope that they are untrue, that there is a curse that can be broken and people can learn a new way of living. I think, deep inside, past the hurt and the anger… and the fear, there is a desire for peace.”

 The witch looked at him curiously. “And what, Man of Trees and Flowers, could have hurt a witch?” she asked, pointedly, as though the idea was impossible. “What do you imagine a witch could fear?”

 “I don’t know,” Hashirama said honestly. “Why would a witch be angry?”

 The witch did not appear to have a response for this. They stared at each other for a long moment. Hashirama felt a very strong urge to look away, because the witch’s stare was intense and three-pronged, between her pitch black eyes and the glittering green jewel in her forehead, but he did not.

 He had a fairly good sense for people and for danger, when he reminded himself not to panic, and this felt important.

 “They are going to tempt Mother’s wrath if they continue their warring,” the witch said, moving past his question, although it did not seem as though they had left it fully behind them. “Witches, unlike human kin, are not closely bonded by blood, but… it is unwise to continue along this path. Mother despises such nonsense and she is rarely reasonable when she is displeased.”

 “Parents seldom are,” Hashirama agreed.

 “She is not wrong to be displeased, though. Their continuous warring is an embarrassment to us. They involve other spirits and _men_ in their quarrel, such that I would not be surprised if even you had heard of their bickering.” 

 “I do think I would I have heard something about it,” Hashirama said, somewhere between agreeableness and doubt. He really did think he would have heard something, but he cannot recall anything about squabbling witch sisters.

 The witch squinted at him, a little suspiciously. “I believe that the men of this island call the isles and sea that my seven sisters war over… ‘Kiri’.”

 Hashirama somehow managed to nearly swallow his own tongue and broke out coughing. Heart pounding, lungs squeezing, throat seizing, he was a wreck for nearly a whole minute. The witch watched him with unimpressed disbelief, enough to make his face burn along with his throat after he finally managed to get his choking reaction under control.

 “I take it that you have heard something about it,” the witch said wryly.

 “Um, yes,” Hashirama said.

 Even in the midst of their own wars, the Senju had heard stories of the bloodshed that seemed to consume and define the eastern mists. Terrible tales emerged from Water Country of the deathly spirits that walked their waters, locked in conflicts that often boiled over into the conflicts of the human clans there. Dangerous witches roamed the bloody mists, whispered the largely unbelievable and presumably exaggerated stories that travelled to them from their eastern neighbours, demons with bloody hair and bloody hands and bloody appetites.

 “I just… I didn’t know there was any _truth_ to those stories,” Hashirama said finally, with a frightening new perspective on what horrors the witch had really meant when she described her sisters’ fighting as ‘bickering’ or ‘nonsense’.

 “Is there not a grain of truth in most stories?” the witch said grandly, her chin lifted again. But there was an odd note of tiredness in her voice that Hashirama never would have dreamed he might hear from her before this oddly serious conversation. “It is unwise for men to doubt the things that dwell in the darker parts of the world. Less polite sisters than me are very good at taking advantage of this.”

 Silence fell between them for a long moment. Senju Hashirama did not know quite what to say to this, so he sat peaceably in the sand beside a short witch with flowers in her claws, staring out towards the waves and the wild in the western horizon. The late afternoon sun was warm, the sounds of the sea were comfortable, and his mild terror had settled into something similarly warm and comfortable, something that it was likely unwise to feel around a powerful and dangerous magical demon.

 Finally, the witch looked at him again and said, “What happened to your face, Man of Trees and Flowers?”

 Hashirama did not stiffen, but he did pause. The sea breeze pressed again against the deep, muted agony in the left side of his face, deafening in the silence between him and the witch. He had not forgotten it, as it hurt every time he moved his face and thus had hurt with every expression and sentence from him, but he had hoped that the witch might have.

 But the witch stared at him, frowning, and moved so that she was once again actively invading his space. She squinted and scowled at the swollen and throbbing bruising, while Hashirama tried to be rid of the seize of his throat, and demanded, “What is the truth you have given me only a grain of? Do you think me a fool?”

 “No! No, of course not,” Hashirama said. “It’s…”

 Again, the sea breeze pressed questionably against the swollen ache of his face, pushing nastily against the already painful stretch that came with speaking. The tear tracks down his cheeks had long since dried, but now his eyes threatened to water again, unhappy to be reminded of the shameful, guilty feelings surrounding the incident and all before it. There was a ringing in his ears, locking the squeeze of his lungs and bound of his heart in his own head for a moment, caused by the horrid memories of his father’s disgusted fury, loud shouting, and surprising, harsh, _hard_ strike.

 Hashirama looked down at the sea witch beside him. Down at her hands, gently holding the white flowers close to her chest as though they were perhaps the most precious gift in all the world.

 “I tempted my father’s wrath,” he admitted. “We argued and he… disagreed with my disagreeing with him. I was not quick enough to dodge this time.”

 He might have been quick enough to dodge the blow, honestly, but his position had been against him as well as the situation. While it was not surprising for his father to physically lash out, the strike had been sudden and Hashirama had been caught nearly flat-footed. Senju Butsuma was still an extremely skilled shinobi; the only thing possibly quicker than his temper was his blade.

 Besides, Hashirama had stood between his father and his brother. Had he dodged, he would have likely left Tobirama an open target instead. Hashirama would never knowingly let anything get past him to one of his brothers, not again, and the mere idea was more than enough for him to forfeit the split-second he might have used to dodge.

 The witch frowned at him, displeased, disapproving, but… he did not think of him. “What did you argue over?” she asked. There was no pity in her casual tone, just a question, but the glint in her dark eyes made Hashirama look away anyway.

 “I’m going to be married,” Hashirama answered, after a pause in which he considered the wisdom in confessing things to a witch. She had confessed some of her troubles to him, he decided, and he had no one else to speak to on this island. “My father has arranged a marriage for me to ally our clan with the Uzumaki. I hoped to make an alliance without a match, my betrothed has as little interest in me as I do her, but he would not hear of it.”

 “…Parents seldom do,” the witch said after a pause of her own.

 Hashirama looked at her again, trying to make sense of a statement like that. He recognized it, having said it himself, having heard it many times over from his fellows and friend, but he had not thought that he would hear it from a witch. What would it be like, he wondered, to have a witch for a mother? Perhaps it was different, having witches for mothers and sisters, when you yourself were a witch, but… Hashirama suddenly did not think so. He was a shinobi born into a shinobi clan, after all.

 “I just… wanted to be married for love,” Hashirama said lamely, when the witch said nothing else, well-aware of how unlikely that sweet dream had always been. It sounded so _childish_ when he said it aloud, but some part of him still dreamed of love – of passion, of adoration, of love and love and _love_ – despite not living in his ideal world.

 Setting eyes on his bride for the first time, he had felt nothing. Not a flutter in his heartbeat or a push against his lungs. Princess Katsumi was beautiful, yes, but Hashirama did not know her and she did not know him. He could not love a complete and completely disinterested stranger. The prospect was... disheartening. 

 “But my father and I have always argued over how and where to lead and protect our clan,” Hashirama continued. “This is just our latest difference. I want peace and freedom for the clans and he wants…” Revenge? Justice? Survival? Hashirama fists clenched in frustration; he had never understood his father. “He believes the complete elimination of our enemies is the only way.”

 The witch tilted her head. “Is not the elimination of an enemy the only way to end a threat?”

 “No! They aren’t our enemies!” Hashirama said, aghast and furious. His face throbbed with every beat of his heart and word that he spoke. “They are people just like us. They suffer just as we do, all caught up in an endless and evil war. There is no reason to kill and die like we do! _Hate_ is our enemy!”

 “Turning your back on your enemies is to invite them to stab it, Man of Trees and Flowers,” the witch warned, expression fierce. “The warring will take any advantage that you give them.”

 “We are not witches!” Hashirama returned, equally fierce. His face hurt. “We are civilians and widows and children! Husbands and wives and _humans_ who have inherited an unreasonable feud and hatred that demands we send children and young men and women off to murder each other and die as shinobi fighting a worthwhile and noble cause!”

 He realized his mistake as soon as the last word left his mouth. The witch’s face was a picture of growing fury, her pitch black eyes glinting and the jewel in her forehead glittering dangerously. Her tangled, bloody hair shifted, lifting, with her rising anger. There was a stench of salt and rot in the air. The waves crashed like thunder.  

 “And witches would do these things?” she demanded, voice low.

 “No!” Hashirama said, heart pounding and veins cold with his mistake, although he did not know what witches would do. They might, given Kiri’s chaos. “Our feuding is different, that is all I meant! These are _children_ being forced – _raised –_ to make war! The innocent and helpless and unwilling! It’s _different!_ ”

 The witch paused, still scowling, her hair swirling around her waist and thighs, dragging over the trembling sand. Hashirama’s chakra buzzed under his skin in answer, ready to fight long enough to let himself flee, should it come to that, but for the moment he stayed anxiously on-edge and watched her warily. He seemed incapable of speaking his point without unintentionally striking nerves.

 “I’m sorry,” he said, with all the sincerity he could. “But I do not turn my back on those that would kill me, I only wish to end the war – end the pain – it’s senseless. We could have peace, if only we weren’t so determined to follow the footsteps of our ancestors and see enemies everywhere instead of people just like us. I… I’m sorry, but… I’m not.”

 Hashirama waited, ready to strike and run for his life, but no attack came. Instead, the witch’s hair slowly lowered, becoming limp and lifeless. The breeze blew away the salty stench and the waves quieted again. The witch’s scowl lessened, lightened, into a frown of less scathing displeasure.

  “You are impertinent,” she declared, “and of the foolish sort that cannot be called a coward.”

  The reappearance of the backhanded compliment made Hashirama pause in his wondering about how he was exactly going to tell Tobirama that he’d pissed off and insulted a witch he’d been making conversation with, even though she’d specifically warned him not to cross her.

 “But you are not wrong that the affairs of men cannot be compared to the warring of witches. Humans are hardly witches,” the witch continued. She looked up at him, eyes glinting, chin raised, hands full of flowers. “It is not my concern should you get stabbed in the back trying to make friends with your enemies. If you die by the hand of a foe you are trying to protect, the indignity of such a death will be your own fault.”

 Hashirama stared back at her, uncertain how to continue or what to say. His chest felt tight and the bottoms of his feet itched, and he felt on the edge of a pins and needles feeling from relief.

 “You are very interesting and entertaining, Man of Trees and Flowers, despite your nonsense. You should be more mindful of yourself, however, lest you give reason to less polite spirits than me, who need very little to be crossed,” the witch warned.

 “I… I will be mindful,” Hashirama promised.

 The witch sniffed, unimpressed. “See that you are, for your sake.”

 Hashirama simply nodded this time, at a loss for words. Relief had made him nearly numb and surprise had struck him speechless, as he had not expected a witch to be anything like this. She was still very dangerous, clearly, but reasonable and thoughtful and surprisingly… human. He had apparently been very lucky in which witch he had attracted the attention of.

 The witch, however, was not content to wait for him to come up with something to say.

 “Give me your face,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “I cannot bear to look at it any longer.”

 Hashirama looked at her, confused and more than a little alarmed. Give her… his face?

 “…What?” he said.

 Was he supposed to take it off and hand it to her? Was that a thing witches did? Stories went on and on about the changeable faces of spirits, after all, and there was more than a myth or two of face-stealers, but Hashirama had been under the impression they used magic or chakra! Tobi and Itama definitely didn’t use real faces, but did witches? Oh, gods!

 “I can’t… I can’t take my face off…” Hashirama tried to explain weakly.

 The witch stared at him, unimpressed, and said flatly, “I did not ask you to.” She carefully placed the five white flowers in her lap and slowly reached her hands up to his face, ignoring Hashirama’s wide eyes and fearfully bounding heart. “I was asking you to bend _down._ ”

 “Oh,” Hashirama said. “That makes… much more sense.”

 “Yes, it does,” the witch agreed, her hands now hovering above either side of his face.

 “Um… why am I doing this?”

 “I cannot bear to look at your discoloured and misshapen face any longer,” the witch explained flatly, eyes roaming over the swollen ache of Hashirama’s brusies. Then she said in a frankness that would have given Tobirama a challenge to match, “It is now very clear that your appearance is truly all you have to commend you.”

 “Ah,” Hashirama said, wincing theatrically. He then winced genuinely as the witch closed the distance between her scaled fingers and his face, pressing painfully against the injury.

 For a moment, then stared at each other. The witch’s eyes were dark and intense, the salty smell and powerful crash of her was dizzyingly close, and her fingers were wet and warm in an unnatural way that spoke of elements and power. The jewel in her forehead was glittering even brighter than before.

 Hashirama did not know where to look. His feet itched and this was awkward.

 “Close your eyes,” the witch said finally.

 “Just… just for clarification,” Hashirama said, not yet complying. “What are you going to do? Because injuries aside, I am very fond of my face the way it is. This is unnecessary, really. You needn’t do this.”

 “All I am doing is healing your bruises, Man of Trees and Flowers, and I _am_ doing this,” the witch said, insistently, frowning. Her bloody hair stirred. “Close your eyes.”

 Hashirama hesitated.

 “Close your eyes,” the witch repeated, for the third and final time. “…In exchange for being mindful of my sisters’ warring, as you gave me flowers for your family secrets, if you must hesitate.”  

 Finally, still slightly doubtful, Hashirama closed his eyes. At first, nothing, and then…

 The hands on his face warmed further, becoming intensely hot, which spread over his skin and into his face until the soothed aches almost felt as though they were aflame. A greenish glow filled his eyelids and a heavy feeling pressed all over his head, as though he were deep underwater at the same time that his bruises were burning. His ears filled and his heart thundered in them, his lungs and throat strained, and his mouth felt suddenly parched and salty.

 It felt like eternity in a moment, both an intense pleasure and pain, and Hashirama did not know whether to be devastated or relieved when the roaring fire returned to a simple warmth. The green glow faded to nothing, but the witch’s warm, wet hands stayed against his sore, tingling face.

 For a moment, the only sound were the waves against the shore, his heartbeat against his ears, and the sound of breathing. For a moment, Hashirama felt warm breath against his face, contained power close and buzzing as though a face was nearly pressed against his own. For this moment, he could not open his eyes, as his head was too busy swimming with the overwhelming stink of salt and the feeling running down from his face that he was being pushed and pulled by waves floating inside his skin.

 Then something cool splashed over his sandals. Hashirama yelped, eyes flashing open, and the moment ended.

 The witch was gone, not just her warm hands and breath from his face, but entirely, starkly and suddenly. There were only prints in the sand where she’d stepped and knelt and sat, which were being smoothed away by the far-reaching wave that had come out from the sea to soak Hashirama’s sandals and clothes. Hashirama leaped to his feet and immediately nearly fell over into the sand and strange wave. He wobbled with the buzz of the vanished witch’s healing, still lingering against his sore face and tingling through all his limbs.

 Dizzied, wet, and very confused, Hashirama watched the strange, odd wave slowly return to sea, almost identical to the wave that had preceded the witch’s arrival. The thick wave sank back into the sea and no other strange waves followed it. The only remaining signs of oddness or supernatural things about were the vague traces of where the witch had sat, which were nearly indistinguishable to the signs of Hashirama’s time on the beach.

 He had not been prepared for the witch to leave so suddenly. Had it been something he said? Had he offended her with their discussion on warring and enemies? She had made no mention of needing or wanting to leave. He’d hardly suppose that he could dictate the coming and going of any spirit, except but also maybe especially his brothers, never mind a witch who ruled over the waves and the wild. It was just… he would have liked to speak with her longer, he thought.

 But perhaps it was time he returned to the village, to his father, to his responsibilities, instead of dreaming away at the waterside. He had a brother to comfort, a betrothed to meet with, a father to deal with, and a clan to lead. He could not be one of those stories of a person disappeared by spirits and he was probably tempting his luck as it was.

 “Thank you,” he said to the sea, because his mother had raised a polite young man, and then just in case added, “Farewell.”

 Goodbyes were only polite and perhaps even witches needed luck.


	4. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is entirely unnecessary, but I wrote this when I was trying to figure the direction I should take next and I like it well enough. This entire fic is a bit ridiculous, so there's no reason not to share.

 Hashirama did not so much walk back to the guest house as he floated there, his limbs all still numbed and shaky, and his face still tingling with power. He had never experienced a healing like that, just as he had never made casual and somewhat intimate conversation with a witch, and it had left a heady, nearly unreal feeling in him that was hard to describe.

 He felt as though he was being pushed and pulled by the waves from inside. If he stumbled under the tugging sensation and hurt himself, he thought, he would not mind at all if he could have that feeling like being thrown about by a breaking, boiling wave again. If he closed his eyes again, he thought he could still feel warm, wet hands against his face, sharp nails resting against his skin, and hot, salty breath against him. There was a greenish glow to the world and a faint buzzing in his ears.

 It was early evening by the time he returned, just before the evening meal, and Hashirama was immediately accosted by one of his clansmen. Fortunately for him, it was Souma, his father’s third cousin, a genjutsu expert not much older than him, and one of the few of their party who could be persuaded to be sympathetic to Hashirama, his less-than-legitimate brothers, and his ideals.

 “Hashirama, where have you _been?_ ” Souma demanded.

 “Out,” Hashirama answered cheerfully, thoroughly enjoying the violent twitching of his cousin’s eye.

 “Out _where_?” Souma demanded as he dragged Hashirama into the main guest house.

 Hashirama went willingly enough. He was a bit wobbly still, anyway, although he could have sworn that Souma was stronger than this. It wasn’t like Souma, or any Senju, to tone down their strength, especially when Hashirama was taller, broader, and stronger than his older cousin. Hashirama felt like he could one-handedly lift an ox without even trying right now – or Souma, which was kind of tempting, even though Souma definitely would not stand for being picked up.

 The main guest house’s sitting area was unfortunately and fortunately empty, as Souma shoved Hashirama towards one of the seats and Hashirama obliged him. He could feel Tobirama’s wintery flow, muted but fledging with sharpness as always, deeper inside the house in the room Tobi had claimed as his temporary lair. Pouting and sulking and brooding, Hashirama assumed, without the option to flee or fight or rant out their failure. There were also a few other clansmen about their own business, but Butsuma and any of his father’s advisors or elders echoed more distantly, likely deeper inside the village.

 “On a walk,” Hashirama told his unhappy cousin. “To clear my head.”

 Souma didn’t get any less unhappy at this answer. His projected calm and bemused apathy were ruined but the edge of tiredness around his eyes and through his tone. “Your head’s already cleared empty. You can’t keep disappearing like this, brat, or your father’s going to…” He gave a heavy sigh, then said accusingly. “I spent half the day looking for you, you know, when I could have been lounging on beaches with a pretty redhead!”

  _That’s what I was doing,_ Hashirama almost said, because it was. _Only she was a witch too!_

 He didn’t, though, because he would get in _so_ much trouble if anyone thought he’d been out and about flirting with anyone who wasn’t his betrothed. Or interacting with a witch of all spirits. Hashirama was fairly certain he hadn’t been flirting with the witch, at least. There had definitely been lounging and the witch was a very pretty redhead, but there hadn’t been flirting.

 Hashirama didn’t even know how to flirt. He’d never done it before.

 “Sorry,” he said.

 Souma stopped being upset for a moment to stare at him, less accusing and more considering. Then Hashirama’s cousin came closer, leaned in, and stared at him a bit more. Hashirama stared back, leaning obligingly down, reflecting some of Souma’s confusion but feeling largely floaty and content still.

 “…Are you _drunk_?” Souma said finally.

 “No?” Hashirama grinned.

 Souma didn’t seem convinced, which was probably because he was the sort of person who could never be convinced by anyone who was cheerful about not being drunk. He didn’t seem genuinely angry about anything though, just a little frustrated, which was why Hashirama was glad it was this clansman who’d found him instead of one of the ones who were going to yell at him for disappearing so irresponsibly during such an important time in such an unfamiliar place.

 Souma stood up straight, picked the bridge of his nose, and muttered, “Who would even _give_ you booze here?” Then, without waiting for any sort of answer, said, “Fuck, this shouldn’t be my problem. I don’t care. _Don’t_ do this again. Water and straight to bed for you, then a drink for _me,_ understood?”

 “Yes,” Hashirama agreed. That sounded simple and good.

 “Unfortunately in that order. Come on, you ‘clear-headed’ drunkard, towards morning with you.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I planned to involve Princess Katsumi this much, but she developed a personality over the course of what was supposed to be a much shorter scene and then suddenly the direction of things shifted.

 Hashirama was finally formally introduced to his betrothed the next morning, after a private breakfast sent to his rooms and getting shoved into more formal clothes and out the door before he could check on his brother. He saw his father only in passing. Butsuma was busy speaking to Senju advisors and clansmen and a few Uzumaki, with his back turned to his son as Hashirama went by to take morning tea with his betrothed, but that was likely for the best.

 Princess Katsumi looked very beautiful and elaborate in her rich blue dress embroidered with silver waves, even more so than the first time he had seen her among the waiting Uzumaki when the Senju first arrived. If she had been ill, when indisposed and unable to take a tour with him yesterday, she didn’t look it in the slightest. More importantly than her health and beauty, however, she looked like she might kill someone to get out of being there.

 Hashirama was presented as a prime candidate and, after introductions, was essentially abandoned on the private terrace. His only potential saviour was the extremely elderly lady playing chaperone, and she was falling asleep on the bench in the corner, a book slipping out of her lap.

 Princess Katsumi leaned forward and elegantly poured a cup of tea, then sat back and sipped it.

 “Er,” Hashirama said.

 She raised a painted eyebrow at him.

 Hashirama leaned forward and dutifully poured his own cup of tea. He didn’t mind at all if this were how things were going to go, but he did enjoy having some direction on the matter so he explicitly knew where things stood. He was trying not to approach his betrothal like a fatally dangerous mission.

 He didn’t know much of anything of his betrothed, unfortunately. He could memorize all her features; like her gently red hair twisted into elaborate knots, her dark blue eyes glaring knives into his chest, her small purple jewel on her forehead, her light brown skin and short stature and round, wide features.

 She looked a lot like the witch, actually, only less bright and less wild. Less sharp and less _more._ Although perhaps it was the witch who looked a lot like her.

 However, looks didn’t mean Hashirama knew anything about the young woman who was supposed to shortly become his wife. He was to become husband to someone whose personality was a mystery. He’d rather not get married to a complete stranger.

 “So, what hobbies do you enjoy, Princess?” Hashirama said awkwardly, because he knew better than to ask her feelings on their situation. Was he supposed to flirt here? He still didn’t know how to flirt, he had never learned, no one had told him how or given him a book with visual aids on the subject.

 Princess Katsumi eyed him suspiciously. “Sailing,” she said finally, “and diving.”

 “Oh, that’s nice,” Hashirama said, in the way of someone who knew essentially nothing about either of those things. He enjoyed the ocean well enough, so long as he didn’t think about all the possible things that could be down there. Swimming in rivers was much nicer.

 “And you?”

 “Gardening.”

 “Mm,” Princess Katsumi said, in the way of someone who had at best a passing regard for plants, if only because eating them helped keep her alive. “That’s nice.”

 Hashirama looked down at the tea he hadn’t sipped and wondered if it might be poisoned.

 “I like it,” he said helplessly. Then, because he was running out of polite conversational topics that he might also be interested in, he asked, “What sort of weapon do you prefer?”

 Princess Katsumi just _looked_ at him. It was here that Hashirama remembered that civilians existed, and that some clans didn’t train their daughters as they trained their sons.

 Which was really stupid, he’d always thought, and not only because his clan was full of women fully willing and capable of beating him up if he dared to think any different. His cousin Touka and her mother, for example, two of Tobirama’s favourite people, were lovely ladies of their esteemed clan, but they were shinobi first. They had a way of looking at a man that would cut him to pieces where he stood so they didn’t even have to dirty their preferred weapons.

 “The sword,” Princess Katsumi answered finally, as though this wasn’t incredibly vague. On the other hand, her answer was perhaps as though she would kill him for asking any more questions.

 “Oh,” Hashirama said. “That’s nice.”

 Behind Princess Katsumi, the elderly woman that was supposed to be chaperoning them was now leaning against a pillar and snoring. The book on her lap hit the floor with a gentle _thump_ that rang in Hashirama’s ears like a gong of doom. He let himself wince, because he’d not been having a great few days and he really did deserve to treat himself to a physical expression of unhappiness.

 Princess Katsumi didn’t react beyond taking another sip of tea. She looked out towards the ocean’s horizon, spread out beautifully before them on this formal terrace, under the mid-morning sun. Birds were gliding in the distance, aloft on the salty breeze.

 If this was the part where, now without their chaperone, Hashirama and his betrothed were supposed to get up to inappropriate “hanky-panky,” then Hashirama felt little remorse in considering his possible objections, excuses, and escape plans. He didn’t particularly care if it was traditional, he wasn’t comfortable with the idea. He wasn’t prepared in any way. Admittedly, the only inappropriate behaviour he really thought might happen was Princess Katsumi causing a fatal accident, but Hashirama’s panic responses had never been reasonable.

 “I was supposed to be the next Clan Head,” Princess Katsumi said conversationally.

 Hashirama stopped calculating how fast he could get onto the roof and looked at her. She still wasn’t looking at him. She was staring out to sea with a scowl on her made-up face, without a care to creases or appearing calm.

 “I’ve worked for it my entire life. I was my father’s heir and I was so _proud_ to be the next one to lift our island higher, so I couldn’t wait. I didn’t wait. I’ve been doing everything I can for my clan for as long as I can remember.”

 Hashirama didn’t say anything. He listened.

 “I’ve been working to unite the clans and villages of Whirlpool since I could hold a pen to write a letter, since I could wield a blade to kill grown men and women,” Princess Katsumi said, still conversationally, her expression still twisted with anger. “I have dreamed that the Uzumaki and Whirlpool will stand against the strongholds of the north, and the wealth of the west, and the raiders of the east, with only our craft, will, and courage to carry us.

 “I have sailed against pirates and brought supplies through storms for the people of my country. And now, to make allies that will keep us fed and protect us from the enemies that surround us, I will go be a bride in a strange land, to a man I did not know and did not choose, because that is what _tradition_ demands be done.”

 The sneer on her face said clearly what the princess thought of tradition and this affair. So clearly that she didn’t continue, and let silence come between them to widen the distance already there. The bright sky and warm breeze didn’t suit this meeting at all.

 “I’m sorry,” Hashirama said. “I don’t want this either.”

 “You hardly seem to be complaining.”

 “In private to my father, I would seem differently. You beat me to indisposition yesterday.” 

 Princess Katsumi finally looked at him, at the admission for the admission. “It must rest easier knowing that you’ll return to your home and your family, to your duty and your destiny.”

 Hashirama thought about it and decided to be honest. “It does,” he answered. Even the thought of having to leave his clan, his brothers, his friends, and his dream behind left a foul taste of despair in the back of his mind. He could try to make the best of it, perhaps one day he might adjust to such a thing, but his heart felt misery at the very idea and dread at the more that lay ahead.

 His betrothed nodded, her brow still furrowed and her lips downturned, and looked out at the great stretch of sea. “I’ve been to Fire Country several times, but never for long and never far past the coasts. I’ve heard you have forests so large they look like oceans of green.”

 “Yes,” Hashirama said, almost wistful at the reminder. “At the changing of seasons, the leaves turn bright yellow, orange, and red. The entire country appears to have been set aflame.”

 “It sounds beautiful.”

 “It is.”

 “My duty has always been to my clan and my family, and I love them dearly,” Princess Katsumi said, “but my first love was the ocean. On the clearest days, even from this island, you can see the dragons out on the horizon, and the great castles in the clouds.”

 “That’s incredible,” Hashirama said, though he felt awed wordless.

 “There’s nothing like it,” Princess Katsumi said, with her eyes caught on the sea so that Hashirama felt the background to it rather than the other way around. “My father has said that I’m just like him: I can feel the tides in my soul.”

 Hashirama couldn’t remember if his father had ever said they were just alike. Hashirama had always been more his mother’s son, even trying to emulate his father. If Butsuma ever had mentioned any similarities, it was more likely to be some insulting quip on stubbornness than a compliment, and compliments on one’s ability to kill efficiently and ruthlessly as though they were glorious things didn’t rest easy in Hashirama’s chest.

 “Is there nothing you can say to him?” Hashirama asked.

 “I’ve said _plenty_ to him in private. Is there anything I can do? Is there anything he can do? Nothing that won’t have terrible consequences for my clan,” Princess Katsumi said. “The Senju hold more power in this alliance than the Uzumaki. Is there nothing you can do?”

 “Nothing that won’t have terrible consequences for my clan,” Hashirama answered. Princess Katsumi turned her head slightly and raised her eyes, and Hashirama explained, “I could throw my weight around, but all I would probably accomplish is cracking my clan into half. Uneven halves, most likely. As you said, princess, I lose little by going through with this, but I do still have people to lose.”

 “Indeed? The joys of politics,” Princess Katsumi said dryly.

 “You and my brother would probably get on well,” Hashirama noticed aloud.

 “Is this the brother that hasn’t left his rooms since you arrived?”

 “Er, yes. That’s him.”

 Princess Katsumi nodded. “Yes, we probably would.” She took another sip of her tea and then said plainly, “I have to warn you now: I will never love you in the way of lovers.”

 “…I don’t think anyone’s expecting that of us,” Hashirama said quietly.

 “I am extraordinarily bitter at the moment and, though you seem nice enough, I’m afraid to say that I carry a great deal of resentment for you. I’m trying to be reasonable about this, but I’m very angry.”

 Hashirama was reminded, strikingly, of his mother. This was more than a little alarming. Senju Butsuma and his wife, Senri, had had an arranged marriage as well. It had been full of bitterness and resentment, and it had never gotten better, and Hashirama had never dreamed that he one day might be playing the role of his father to his own unhappy bride. That was... the exact opposite of everything he'd ever wanted for himself. 

 “Is there no one else I can marry?” Hashirama suggested, with hopeful lightness. “A brother or sister, perhaps?”

 “…I think your father and elders may take issue with a marriage between you and one of my male cousins,” Princess Katsumi said, her scowl disappeared, her lips twitching at the side. “Though I’m sure they’ll be flattered at the offer. No, there’s not anyone else. I have no siblings and no close female cousins, and the contract demands a direct daughter of the main Uzumaki line.”

 “I’m sorry.”

 “You should be, if that contract had been written any vaguer, I’d have you marrying one of my male cousins at this very moment. They’re terrible louts. I’m sure you would get along beautifully.”

  _Yes,_ Hashirama thought, _definitely someone Tobirama will get along with._

 “I hope we can at least be friends,” Hashirama said.

 “I hope so as well,” Princess Katsumi allowed. “If I am to do my duty, then you can be assured I’ll do it well.” She raised her cup of tea in one perfectly manicured hand, a hand that Hashirama noticed was heavily callused. “To duty, my dearly betrothed.”

 “To duty,” Hashirama echoed. He raised his own cup of tea and pretended to drink in time.

 Princess Katsumi almost smiled at him, and he’s sure she noticed that he didn’t actually drink. “This has been a wildly more successful meeting than I anticipated,” she said. “This may be getting ahead of myself, but how would you feel about appointing me as your ambassador to Whirlpool Country?”

 “Doesn’t that mean you’d live… here… basically?” Hashirama said, confused.

 “Yes.”

 “You… really don’t want to leave here.”

 “Not in the slightest.”

 “I… well…” Hashirama wondered if there had ever been a less romantic meeting between two people going to be married; ever a murder attempt would have given _some_ sense of romance. It said something plainly that all he was feeling at the moment was an overwhelming sense of relief. “My father and the elders might take issue,” he said finally.

 “I assumed so.”

 “Children are going to be expected at some point.”

 “I know. Meetings and partial custody could be arranged.”

 “Well… I guess I wouldn’t have any objections,” Hashirama said. He didn’t want to keep anyone with him against their will, much less his wife. This was… spiralling out of his image of a marriage of friendship, but… he supposed it could work. “My father and the elders really would take issue, though.”

 “Not nearly as much issue as I take with them,” Princess Katsumi near mumbled.

 “The constant travel might become a problem,” Hashirama continued, trying not to wilt at how neatly any romantic dreams he’d dared harbour had been dashed. “Especially with children.”

 “Something to think about,” Princess Katsumi agreed. “Such an arrangement can be debated and considered at a later point, I suppose. Forgive me, but Uzushio is my home. It was to be mine to protect and make prosper, to rule and grow, to pass on to my children. This entire arrangement has been… a surprise.” _An unwelcome one,_ she didn’t say, but she didn’t need to. “As I said, the sea is a part of me and I a part of it. Do you feel the same about your fiery forest?”

 “…I do,” Hashirama admitted, because he did now that he was faced with the question. Uzushio had none of the dense forests that he called home, none of the wild green and dark woods, none of the thick growth and far-reaching fields that Hashirama could taste in every breath and feel in every finger.

 He hadn’t thought that someone could feel the same about Whirlpool Country, about its clans and peace between them, as he did Fire Country. They were very different people, he and Uzumaki Katsumi, from very different places, but they had very similar dreams. If Hashirama were to come live here, and become an Uzumaki, he could no more forget his home and no more worry about his clan than he could cease the beating of his own heart or the movement of his lungs.

 Perhaps he could, but it would hurt, and he would surely swiftly die.

 “Enough of plotting for now. My father and my elders will expect me to have _gotten to know you_ some by the time this tea is finished. I hear you have a particular gift for green things,” Princess Katsumi said, almost curiously.

 Hashirama leaned forward and let his power flow from the tip of his finger into the small, yellow flowers sitting on the table between them. Under Hashirama’s touch, they grew larger and split into more flowers, and they became so bright and saturated with colour that they seemed to glow under the sunlight. Hashirama picked one from the lot and offered it to the princess.

 She took it and stared at it with an expression that was more blank than curious. “Thank you,” she said, and carefully placed the flower on the table. “That’s a powerful gift.”

 “It helps with my gardening,” Hashirama answered helplessly.

 “I imagine. How are you finding Uzushio? Our island must be very different.”

 “It is different, but it’s also lovely,” Hashirama said, after a moment of thought. “I’ve never been surrounded by the sea before.” He nodded towards the view off the terrace, where the ocean looked like it stretched on forever and the sky reached to meet it at the end. “Even just looking around, I’ve never seen so much blue in my life before.”

 “I can’t imagine my life without it,” Princess Katsumi said, following his nod.

 A brief silence fell between them.

 “…Could I ask a question of you, princess?”

 “About what?”

 “You mentioned… spirits… in relation to the ocean…”

 “The dragons and the castles in the clouds, yes. They are more of the sky than the sea, but the ocean itself is home to many spirits.”

 While Hashirama didn’t have any romantic feelings, he did feel as though mutual unhappiness had created a bond of sorts between him and his future wife. She was a native of the island and could potentially answer the questions that had been stirring in him since his trips to the beach. It helped that, though she did remind him quite a bit of Tobirama, she wasn’t likely to shout at him or maim him yet for doing incredibly stupid things like making conversation with a spirit.

 “You’ve encountered them often, then?”

 “Often enough. I usually see them only in passing, like many experienced sailors do,” Princess Katsumi said. “Uzushio has seen many spirits over the ages, both the greater and the lesser. Sometimes conflict with them is inevitable, but it’s rare inland and if you’re clever. The open sea is a wild place.”

 “Oh,” Hashirama said.

 Fire Country had its fair share of wild and forbidden places, now that he thought about it. Places where it wasn’t safe to go at night, or at twilight, or at all. However, the only spirits that Hashirama encountered on a regular basis were his brothers.

 “What about witches?” Hashirama asked.

 Princess Katsumi looked at him. “What _about_ witches?” she said calmly.

 “Have you ever met one?”

 “I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Princess Katsumi said.

 Hashirama, for a second, questioned his own state of being. Was he undead? Probably not. He was sure he would have noticed if he was undead, if only because Tobirama would have surely somehow noticed by now and come to kill him again for getting killed in the first place.

 “I’ve met a woman who claimed to be a witch,” Hashirama said. “On your beach. Twice.”

 Princess Katsumi finally fully turned and looked at him, she had a very steady stare with those dark eyes of hers. “Oh?” she said. “What happened? People who meet witches in the stories don’t usually walk away unscathed.”  

 “She healed my face because she said my looks were all I had to commend me,” Hashirama said, suddenly aware of how ridiculous that sounded. “I’m sorry, I-”

 “I rather think it’s her beach, actually,” Princess Katsumi said, finally putting down her teacup. “And that does sound like her.”

 “…So you know her,” Hashirama said, stunned.

 “Yes, she’s… somewhat of a very distant relation,” Princess Katsumi answered, as though it was perfectly normal to have a witch for that odd, distant family member who caused all sorts of nonsense. “She taught my mother and me how to dive. She usually doesn’t bother with humans at all, though, much less strangers. What were you doing that caught her attention?”

 Hashirama gestured towards the vase on the table. “Growing flowers.”

 “On the beach?”

 “I was bored and wanted to see if I could,” Hashirama said defensively.

 “And you met her twice?”

 “I went to the same beach again the next day and she appeared again,” Hashirama explained. “Should I… be worried about anything?”

 “She appears to like you,” Princess Katsumi said thoughtfully. “Though I wouldn’t seek her out again or push your luck if you do meet again. She replaced one of my male cousins’ arms with octopus-like arms once, when he when to great effort to find her only to ask her for something silly.”

 “Um, how’d he fix that?

 “He didn’t even try, actually. He’s adjusted to it and claims it’s really his own fault and they’re quite useful. You might meet him at some point, but he doesn’t usually flaunt them in front of strangers.”

 Hashirama was now going to stare at the arms of every Uzumaki he met now, he just knew it. He was also going to go to great effort to be even politer to the witch if they did meet again. He didn’t really care how useful octopus arms might be, he didn’t want to get changed into any sort of sea creature even partially, if only because Tobirama and Touka would never let him live it down.

 “Have you considered asking her for help?” Hashirama asked, because that happened fairly frequently in the myths and legends. People were always going to powerful spirits like witches for some favour or another, some impossible wish or gift, and this one was apparently nearly family.

 Princess Katsumi looked at him like couldn’t believe he was real. “She gave my cousin _octopus arms,_ ” she said slowly, as though he hadn’t heard her the first time, “because he _pissed her off.”_

 “Isn’t she family, though?”

 “ _Distant_ family that we rarely, if ever, see,” Princess Katsumi explained. “And that’s dubious by this point. I’m sure she’d only tell me to solve my own problems, like by killing you for daring to come near me and to eat your heart for power.”

 “Oh,” Hashirama said, understanding her point. He supposed he wouldn’t ask the witch for any favours either, even if he did know he better, considering how otherworldly and unpredictable she was. Perhaps he was spoiled by his brother, then, who he could be sure wouldn’t give into the urge to bite his nose off even if he was very annoying. “I suppose you wouldn’t bother asking her then, since you were already probably considering that on your own.”

 Princess Katsumi blinked at him, then she threw back her head and _cackled._

 Hashirama smiled at her, pleased and only slightly nervous.

 “Oh, I don’t want to marry you, but I _do_ like you,” Princess Katsumi said, and sighed. “Imagine if we could have met as the Senju Clan Head and the Uzumaki Clan Head, allying a united Fire Country and a united Whirlpool Country.”

 Hashirama imagined it. “That sounds wonderful,” he said wistfully. “My childhood friend and I always wanted to build a village, a place for all the clans and their families to come together, to be safe and to prosper and raise children without war.”

 “That sounds like a logistical nightmare,” Princess Katsumi said.

 Hashirama deflated, but he also laughed. “Yes, that’s what my brother said.”

 “It’s a nice dream, though. I like it.”

 “You do?”

 “Yes. I’d like to create a school, like the university in the Fire Country capital, dedicated to medicine and sealing and crafting,” Princess Katsumi said. “A centre of learning and research, without any focus on weapons of war or destruction. It would have taken years to come to fruition, years of trust and work and defence, but… I could have done it.”

 “Please don’t ever talk to my brother, you’re going to steal him.”

 “Is marrying him on the table?”

 “Uh, no,” Hashirama said, horrified. “Very much not.”

 “Why not?”

 “Well… he’s adopted,” Hashirama said, because it was either that or _he’s not human._ Also, if Butsuma tried to marry Tobirama off, they would all surely somehow die.

 “Ah, not a direct son of the Senju line, then.”

 Hashirama made a mental note to ask someone at what point you were supposed to reveal to your wife that your first brother was an adopted cat spirit and your second brother was actually your half-brother and only half-human, and neither of them were direct sons of the Senju line. That seemed like the sort of thing you told a spouse after the marriage had taken place, but doing so seemed a bit dishonest when your future spouse had already admitted to there being a witch in the family tree.

 “No,” he said. “Unfortunately not.”

 “So we’re both the only possible candidates for that contract.”

 “Apparently so.”

 “I informed you already that I was very angry and very bitter about this, yes?”

 “You did,” Hashirama confirmed, because she had.

 “Perhaps if we confronted our fathers about this together, we could avert this marriage.”

 Hashirama thought about it. “Perhaps we could, but my father is…” He tried to think of a good word for his father, who was also very angry and very bitter and _very stubborn,_ who had had a terrible arranged marriage and might not think well of a woman as strong-willed as the princess. “My father is likely to take offence, and his advisors and the elders may not accept an alliance without surety.”

 “And we don’t have much time left, but I won’t stand for not trying,” Princess Katsumi said firmly. “The Uzumaki need this alliance, but I can be very persuasive. With your assistance, I believe we can make them see that I will be more valuable as an ally if I am left to become Uzumaki Clan Head.”

 Hashirama… believed her. “What was all that about ambassadors and partial custody, then?”

 “Plan B,” Princess Katsumi answered. “Also, attempting to discern how reasonable a person you were and how accepting you might be of my plotting and scheming, as well as... how interested you were in this marriage and accepting of unconventional options. I learned when I was a young girl that it was never a good idea to fake your death with someone without the right attitude for it. Aptitude can be made up for, but attitude is crucial.”

 Hashirama stared at her and said, “Please never introduce yourself to my brother.”

 “If he ever leaves his rooms, I make no promises,” Princess Katsumi said. “Now, are you going to drink any tea or not? I assure you: I’m not going to poison you when I absolutely plan on eating your heart for power later. I’d make myself sick.”

 “I think… my stomach has rather gone off tea,” Hashirama said politely. “Thank you, though.”

 “Having met you, I can barely believe that you’re supposedly one of my the most dangerous men in Fire Country,” Princess Katsumi said, putting her chin in her hand and her elbows on the table. She slouched, and it was rather at odds with her very fancy clothes. “However, I suppose I’d rather that power rested with gentle men with a passion for gardening.”

 “And clever women with a vision of peace?” Hashirama said.

 “What a wonderful world,” Princess Katsumi agreed. “Less interesting than witches and dragons and castles in the sky, though.” She poured herself another cup of tea, and gently placed the flower that Hashirama had given her back in the vase. “If you do see our local witch again, please tell her that Katsumi says hello and try not to get yourself killed.”

 “What about octopus arms?” Hashirama asked, too morbidly curious for his own good.

 “I’ll expect this marriage business to have been done away with, but otherwise you can do as you please,” Princess Katsumi said. “If we do end up married, I’m going to be very angry with you. I’ve given my cousin too much shit to be married to a man with octopus arms. He’ll never let me live it down.”

 Hashirama, who was unfortunately familiar with the joys of having siblings and cousins, said, “Fair enough. Do you want the names of possible allies and elders to go through right now or do you want a list of names and information later?”

 “Now, but be quick about it. The sleeping draught I put in Nana’s tea will wear off in fifteen minutes.”

 It was here that Hashirama realized why, as well as he and his betrothed were getting along, there was a distinct lack of romance in the air. He would be getting married to a terrible combination of his brother Tobirama and his cousin Touka, only with _political ambition._

 Imaginary-Madara had been right. Uzumaki Katsumi was unlucky to be betrothed to a flaky dolt like him.

 “Isn’t she going to… notice… that?”

 “Maybe, but at worst she’ll suspect we were only having sex.”

 “Isn’t that bad?”

 “Nana had a very wild youth and, to be honest, my clan is a bit weirded out by the idea that you Senju people need to be married before you can have sex. Some of my cousins are very concerned by the possibility that Fire Country has never heard of birth control and how you accomplish your missions if you’re all such prudes.”

 “Uzumakis aren’t big on noble traditions, are they?”

 “Not noble traditions, no,” Princess Katsumi said. “Our traditions make _sense._ ”

 Given that there was a witch on the island who had given one of his betrothed’s cousins octopus arms, Hashirama privately doubted that. Then again, given many of the clans in Fire Country and their unique peculiarities, along with the oddness of his own family, he didn’t have any room to judge.

 “So,” he said, because, as people forgot sometimes, he was a shinobi as well as a flaky dolt. “Names.”

 If he was lucky, Tobirama would be pleased enough by this that he wouldn't kill or maim Hashirama for the whole witch thing. 

 “Hit me with them, flower-boy,” said the princess.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This isn't the first time I've written people plotting to get out of getting married, and it probably won't be the last.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4545390/chapters/10346379)
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> [Also, art.](https://lullabyknellart.tumblr.com/tagged/where-the-wild-things-are)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My affection for marriage-related scheming, slight crack + fluff, and male-female friendships continues. (According to my worldbuilding for Naruto, Katsumi is now Kushina's ancestor.) This is another chapter with an arc that ended up being cut in half. The witch returns next chapter.

 It took Princess Katsumi’s Nana twenty minutes to wake up, in which Hashirama and Katsumi had already exhausted the major players of averting an arranged marriage and their suggestions of the best methods of persuading them, and had moved on to what they knew of each other’s local clan politics as a sign of good faith. Also, Katsumi had objected disbelievingly to one of Hashirama’s suggested tactics and they had needed to quickly move to a related topic to prove their opinions.

 Katsumi was now making a persuasive case for Hashirama approaching Fire Country’s Akimichi Clan and Hatake Clan for an alliance, whether he successfully negotiated peace with the Uchiha or not. The southern Akimichi Clan were noble and allied with several smaller clans, but they also owned and protected vast amounts of farmland that could greatly benefit from Hashirama’s gift of gardening, Katsumi said; and the northern Hatake were small but dangerous, and might be persuaded to be friendlier with a few encouraging words from the Uzumaki.

 Hashirama likewise knew that coastal Fire Country’s Wakahisa Clan could bring influential noble clients and were looking for a more stable land to make their home. Also, that northern Whirlpool Country’s Hamasaki Clan and their glass techniques would be interested in Katsumi’s appreciation for crafting, and needed protection from a feud with a Lightning-based clan.

 It was nice to debate this sort of thing with an almost-friend again. Tobirama was a brother, which was close but also a very different sort of thing. Katsumi was not prone to shouting, unlike Madara, but she did curse a lot and scowl plenty and it was similar enough. It was especially nice to find someone who preferred peace tactics that didn’t involve slaughtering everyone (which Hashirama had always thought rather defeated the purpose of peace), but rather equal trade and gestures of good faith and underhanded nudging with _kind_ intentions if it could be helped.

 Princess Katsumi was in the middle of cussing him out about an incident between the Senju and the Inuzuka, rather unfairly in Hashirama’s opinion since he hadn’t had anything to do with that operation of his father’s, when the old woman sleeping behind her started to wake up. Nana made a horrible _snerk_ sound, decorated with a symphony of snorts that lasted nearly ten seconds.

 Hashirama stared, aghast, immediately afraid the woman was dying. “What-?”

 However, all Katsumi did was hurriedly pour them both cups of tea, straighten her dress, and assume a serene pose as though she hadn’t been making several very rude gestures in Hashirama’s direction not even five seconds ago. Then Nana made a final, loud snort and woke up, blinking owlishly in the direction of her two betrothed charges.

 “I would love to show you the tidal pools, Lord Hashirama,” Princess Katsumi said coolly. “One cannot visit Uzushio without seeing such unique, living collections of our local creatures and plants. Tomorrow, perhaps, my lord?”

 “That sounds lovely, princess,” Hashirama said, because he wasn’t _that much_ of a flaky dolt. Also, even if Princess Katsumi hadn’t given a run-down of how they should act after Nana awoke, it would still have seemed like a better idea to go along with whatever the princess was doing and saying from the warning glint in her eyes, one that the old woman couldn’t see from her bench.

 “I would be honoured,” Hashirama continued. “I will think on the poetry you shared and have a response for you then.”

 “I look forward to your thoughts, my lord,” Princess Katsumi said, then began conversation on something innocuous, as agreed upon: “Have you heard about the troubles far north in the Land of Ice? I hear that the Ever-Winter is beginning to spread over the northern sea. That the tree lines of Earth Country and Lightning Country are shifting south.”

 Hashirama blinked. He had been more concerned with his “suddenly getting married” of late, and now he tried desperately to remember what Tobirama had been talking about just the other day. Oh no, what had Tobi been complaining about last? Tobirama had always been the one to focus on northern politics and events, such that Hashirama had… in a way... just stopped keeping track of them, knowing that Tobi would fill him in if necessary.

 “Yes. Ships docking in Hot Water Country have been reporting more spirits and storms,” Hashirama repeated.

 “The land routes between north-west and north-east have become plagued with bandits,” Princess Katsumi agreed with a nod. “Business for the northern clans has been good, with the sea routes becoming increasingly treacherous, but it aggravates existing feuds.”

 “It makes any business north treacherous,” Hashirama said, because that sounded good. He now vaguely remembered what Tobirama had been ranting about at length last month. “Most alliances are tenuous at best. No southern clans truly want to be called into a northern conflict.”

 “Eastern raiders and clans are already eyeing the coasts of Lightning, Frost, and Hot Water. As the largest and one of the most central countries, Lightning’s clans and lords will have the most difficulty protecting its southern borders from assault, as they must also defend their northern borders against the Ever-Winter.”

 Nana turned her suspicious gaze away from the sweet lovebirds that Hashirama and Katsumi made, and picked up her book. Hashirama breathed a silent sigh of relief and Katsumi’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

 Princess Katsumi had explained that it was of the utmost importance that her Nana not know that they were planning to get out of their arranged marriage. Not because Nana would stop them, but because the old woman was apparently a grand romantic who thought Hashirama was handsome – Katsumi had not said so explicitly, but her disagreement was very strongly and somewhat hurtfully implied – and would privately nag Katsumi about all the pretty grandchildren they’d make together while there was any chance of the marriage still being on the table.

 Katsumi had been adamant that this well-meaning nagging not happen at all costs and Hashirama was very empathetic towards his new friend.

 “Wind Country will look towards Earth’s vulnerable borders the same way,” Hashirama said.

 “Let us hope that the northern strongholds have the strength to fend off scavengers and halt the Ever-Winter’s siege, else we all join the Land of Ice.” Princess Katsumi took a sip of her tea, and though Hashirama still hadn’t had a sip of his own cup, he had to admire the seals carved and painted over the crockery to keep the liquid warm.

 “What’s your opinion, Lord Hashirama, of the current politics in Wave Country?”

 Hashirama actually had his own answers for this one, but he was still surprised that Tobirama hadn’t slinked through the door yet, summoned by the opportunity to bless a stranger with intensely considered political opinions and intermittent, oblivious observations on human foolishness. He was glad that Tobirama yet hadn’t, but Hashirama had always been under the impression that Tobirama could literally smell opportunities to counter discourse. It was a shock to be wrong, even if Tobirama's avoidance of the Uzumaki, especially Princess Katsumi, was simply him abiding by Hashirama's father's conditions of his joining this trip. 

 On one hand, Hashirama would die if he didn’t tell Tobirama about what was happening here, because Tobirama would be loath to miss this, no matter what agreements had been made. However, on the other hand, Hashirama was uncertain that he was prepared to suffer through whatever would happen if Tobirama and Katsumi met.

 “I believe the attempted coup was organized by a small group of extremists for reasons that bely a widespread issue and that the lord’s response on the population was unnecessarily and unfairly violent,” Hashirama answered honestly. “The continued refusal to address Wave Country’s issues with transport and the choice to sell local fishing rights to outside merchants are not solutions.”

 “A bold and refreshing stance,” Katsumi murmured, smiling. “To advocate revolution, my lord. I do agree with you. How fascinating. Whirlpool Country faces many of the same issues as Wave Country, you know.”

 Hashirama listened to Katsumi talk about her solutions for Wave, which were fascinating, and tried not to be unnerved or appear at all smitten or look at all handsome under Katsumi’s Nana’s close watch.

 Privately, Hashirama wondered what would happen if the princess became Senju Katsumi and unleashed herself on his father, Butsuma’s advisors, the Senju elders, and the Uchiha. Hashirama was almost prepared to think it might be kinder to throw them all on the uncertain mercy of the witch. What the witch might do was horrifying – there were some people who wouldn’t escape from sort of aquatic transformation – but at least they’d all probably manage to keep their ears from being scorched off by disdain if Katsumi and Tobirama were to occupy one space.

 Hashirama barely managed not to burst out laughing, or even snicker quietly, in the middle of listening to Princess Katsumi’s response to his offered opinion on Wave Country politics. It was all too easy to picture all the ridiculous ways the witch’s meeting of certain others might go.

 Madara with octopus arms.

  _Ha._  

 

 ~

 

 Hashirama knocked gently.

 “Tobi? Tobi, I know you’re in there.”

 The wintery swirl of Tobirama’s presence inside the room was unmistakable, and while none of the Senju retainers or Uzumaki clansmen would have noticed should Tobi have wanted to sneak out, there wasn’t really anywhere for Tobi to go here. He didn’t know anyone and didn’t know the terrain. Butsuma had discouraged independent exploration in the both of them, especially Hashirama since he was expected to get married, but _especially_ -especially Tobirama.

 Hashirama had been right in that Tobirama would hole himself up after that disastrous breakfast, but in this, as always, Hashirama hated being right. 

 “Come on, Tobi, open the door and talk to me,” Hashirama said desperately. “Don't make me talk to you through the door. We both hate that. Please, Tobi, I wish to tell you how the meeting went. Don't you want to hear how the meeting went?”

  Hashirama strained, but he couldn’t hear any movement inside the room. There was no indication that Tobirama was coming to open the door and Hashirama had no desire to make the mistake of trying to open it himself. He’d made that mistake before and would, in some excitement, make it again, but today he remembered that his brother was very good with seals, very unmerciful with traps, and very protective of his privacy. Hashirama wasn’t desperate enough yet.

 “Princess Katsumi is actually… well, you would like her, Tobi. You’ll like her a lot,” Hashirama said to the door. Would it be overzealous to make Tobi promise not to let himself be stolen by Hashirama’s new ally? Hashirama hadn’t been able to make Katsumi promise not to kidnap his brother. “She’s rather incredible. Once you get to know her, I’m sure that you’ll like her.”

 There was still no answer. Hashirama began, much to his own despair, weighing the pros and cons of opening the door. Pro: making sure his baby bro knew everything was going to be fine. Con: Hashirama might get a face full of semi-permanent ink again, if not something worse.

 “Yeah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

 Hashirama turned to look at his Cousin Souma, his father’s third-cousin, who was standing at the other end of the hall, looking as tired and bemusedly apathetic as always. Contrary to whatever went through the heads of eavesdropping _only-a-few-years-older_ elder cousins, telling Hashirama not to do something just made him want to do it even more. Cheerfully. Out of spite. 

 “Are you _following_ me?”

 “Only a little,” Souma said with a shrug, leaning against a wall. “Reluctantly. When I happen across whatever nonsense you're up to of late. There was a general order not to let you run off in the woods to live with the forest nymphs implied earlier today.”

 “Uzushio doesn’t even _have_ woods.”

 Souma raised his eyebrows at this complaint. “That part being your takeaway is one of many things about you that keeps me awake at night,” he said dryly. “Anyway, you should leave your brother to sulk. He and your father had an argument yesterday, after you ran off to get drunk -” Souma held up a hand before Hashirama could protest. “- or eat funny mushrooms or whatever it is you were doing. I still don’t care.”

 Maybe if Hashirama brought the witch _lots_ of flowers, she would give Souma fish lips or something. He hadn’t breathed a word of a fight when he’d shoved Hashirama into bed last night! Tobirama stewing in his own punishing guilt was bad enough, but Hashirama's father's punishing disdain for his late wife's ward could only make a bad thing even worse. Knowing that he hadn't been here to stand between them hurt just as badly as Hashirama's father had likely hoped. 

 “Why didn’t you _say_ something?” Hashirama demanded lowly. 

 “Did it matter? When are Tobirama and your lord father _not_ fighting?” Souma countered, with a bored frown. “They’re never not fighting. If I made it my job to tell you every time they scowled at each other, I really _would_ have to follow you everywhere. I have better shit to do than babysit – not that you care about that, obviously – or kittensit, I suppose would be the word, in this peculiar case. What did you expect to happen after you left to go 'clear your head'?”

 Hashirama look several quick steps away from Tobirama’s door and loomed over his cousin. “If I’d known that he was upset..." Or  _injured,_ even, though Hashirama didn't think they would engage in a vicious spar in the middle of the Uzumaki. "...I could have talked to him last night,” he said lowly. “I could have comforted him!”

 “Didn’t your beloved brother bite you for nearly smothering him once?” Souma said, unimpressed. “You were _drunk_ – or somehow inebriated, or perhaps simply being strange, I don’t know. What were you going to do? You need to leave your brother alone and focus on wooing your betrothed and getting married, Hashirama, so this whole trip doesn’t turn out to be for nothing. I don’t wish to end up spending it following you around.”

 Hashirama’s shoulders slumped. What had he said to Tobirama only a few days ago? Personal wasn’t always the same as important. Hashirama’s mess of an oncoming marriage was the most immediately important issue, it was true. Tobi even _wanted_ Hashirama to get out of the betrothal. Maybe the best thing to do was focus on his agreement with Katsumi for now, like Tobi would want. 

 Or find a way to make his marriage work, if all their scheming fell through. All Hashirama had ever really wanted was peace. Even above love. 

 Tobirama would be fine. He was always fine, really.

 And yet… Hashirama went back to Tobirama’s door, his fists clenched at his sides, and knocked one last time. “Tobi? I'm sorry for leaving you. Please come out. I didn't meant to leave you to... Look, the meeting with Princess Katsumi went really well. Better than I ever could have imagined. We should speak about it more, but... you… you don’t need to fight Father for me on this one, Tobi. All is going to go well for all of us.”

 He waited and, though Tobi seemed to shift, there was no answer. Hashirama’s shoulders slumped again, he tilted his head again, and he sighed loudly. This proved to be just as ineffective. Hashirama decided he’d try again tomorrow and wandered back towards Souma.

 Souma wriggled his eyebrows. “So… it went _well,_ huh?”

 “I thought she was likely to kill me for a bit,” Hashirama answered honestly. He truly had, before they'd become friends. 

 Souma frowned. “Is… is that your standard for this?”

 Hashirama brushed past him and said cheerfully, “Sure! It's quite the standard to live by!”

 “Are you se-” Souma cut himself off and muttered, “No. No, you’re trying to guilt me about this.” He then called after Hashirama, “Are you trying to guilt me about this, you walking tree? Don't you try to be clever like this, leaves-for-brains! It isn't and is never going to work! I have never felt sorry for you in your life, little cousin! Do you hear me, Hashirama? I believe you, you sad piece of grass, but it will never work!”

 “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Souma!” Hashirama called back merrily. “Good night, cousin!”

 

~

 

 Morning again found Hashirama in the company of his betrothed, after being swiftly poked and prodded and then pushed out the door in slightly less formal clothing than his last meeting with the princess. Fortunately, this meant Hashirama was neither required nor given the opportunity to speak to his less-than-sympathetic, mildly-not-displeased father. (So, Hashirama was not given the opportunity to be _extremely displeased_ with his father for fighting with Tobirama while he was gone, which could have ended no way but badly.) Unfortunately, this meant Hashirama didn’t get to see _or_ speak to his reclusive brother either, which was a shame because Hashirama had dearly wished to speak with his reclusive brother who had still not left his rooms. 

 Whatever borrowed books Tobirama had in there, Hashirama dearly hoped they weren’t dearly precious to their owners. There were only so many excuses that could be made once entire bookshelves started mysteriously vanishing for a good sulk and/or licking of wounds. Most clans were fairly protective of their literature and Tobirama, who was a  _brat_ of a teenager even though he was very good at acting mature, was rarely truly sorry.

 As arranged the previous day, Katsumi and Hashirama were off to see some of Uzushio’s tidepools and discuss poetry. At least, they discussed poetry over breakfast until Uzumaki Nana fell asleep in her seat again, freeing them of their chaperone. It was then that their plans could be set in motion. 

 “She stayed up all night reading a new book that I chose and placed strategically,” Princess Katsumi explained bluntly. “She has never been able to put down a book at a sensible hour in her life. Also, I took the liberty of drugging her tea again and covering that seat in pillows. Nana won’t be awake for hours and, if she does wake up, I will leave her a note to explain that we’ve left for the tidepools and for a tour of our fair island.”

 “Oh,” Hashirama said, who had stressed over dodging his cousin Souma only to find out that he needn’t have. Souma had wrongly assumed that the Uzumaki would look after, as he had put it this morning, the lovebird-herding of Hashirama and his aggressively reluctant, unapologetically conspiring bride. “That was very neatly done of you.”

 “Thank you.” Princess Katsumi swept to her feet, a plump vision in delicate plum and paint. “Come along, my lord, we have people to meet and tidepools to see. Betrothals, much to my disappointment, will not oblige us by sabotaging themselves.”

 Hashirama stood as well and offered his arm. Thankfully, Katsumi declined to take it.

 Soon enough, they were off.

 “So, Princess Katsumi, how do you really fare, this fair morning?”

 “I feel rather like my face has been glued still by this paint and I spent last night wrestling my useless cousins into something resembling allies. I’ll introduce the fish-headed louts as we meet them on our tour.”

 Hashirama opened his mouth to ask a question.

 “No, none of them actually have fish heads,” Katsumi interrupted.

 Hashirama didn’t know whether or not he was disappointed by that. It was an odd feeling.

 “How have you been since last we met, Lord Hashirama?”

 “Well, thank you,” Hashirama answered, then complained: “My brother has locked himself in his rooms after another fight with my father, which occurred the day before yesterday. No one has seen him since."  _And I feel swamped with guilt and helplessness._  "I don't wish to receive a face full of wasps again if I break in to comfort him.”

 “A face full of… wasps?”

 “He’s very mean about his traps,” Hashirama explained. “My face swelled to twice the size the last time I made the mistake of being concerned enough to disturb his privacy.”

 “Hm,” Princess Katsumi said disinterestedly. “My condolences. Can he be persuaded to share his methods?”

 Hashirama tried to imagine a bargaining match between Katsumi and Tobirama, which would surely end… well… Katsumi seemed determined to be immoveable, so it would end with Tobirama running away to Whirlpool Country to help found a university and share cruel trap recipes. Tobirama was surprisingly open about his inventions, especially when shrewdly persuaded by intelligent women who were slightly mean. Their cousin Touka came to mind there.

 “No,” Hashirama said, with great certainty.

 If the contract between himself and Katsumi had been worded any more vaguely, Hashirama was now realizing, he could have swapped himself out for Touka. Oh, that would have worked so well. When all this was over, he wouldn’t be able to send Tobirama _or_ Touka to Whirlpool Country for visits.

 “You have seen firsthand some of my persuasive abilities, Lord Hashirama,” Katsumi reminded him.

 “No, no, I haven’t,” Hashirama replied. “I don’t remember that. No.”

 “…I see.”

 “No, you don’t. Hey, what is that over there?”

 “I hope you know that in Uzushio, those words are one of the first phrases we learn and also considered ‘fair fighting words’ if proven to be bullshit,” Katsumi informed him primly, firmly not looking. 

 “What?” Hashirama said, startled. “No, someone is waving at us!”

 Katsumi looked. “Oh, that’s my cousin Kaito.”

 “Is he the one we’re meeting?”

 “One of the people. I do hope you’re ready to meet some fellow conspirators.”

 “Of course,” Hashirama lied. “Is he the one you said had an issue with dramatic lying for his own entertainment and also performs stacked sealing experiments that usually end in explosions?”

 “ _Im_ plosions,” Katsumi corrected blithely. “Don't overwhelm yourself with worry, flower boy. It’s just like meeting a family, but far better, because I handpicked this one and they’re going to help us get out of this undesirable mess. Anyway, I sincerely hope you’re ready because we are going to meet all of them - and likely most of my family as well. I’ll tell you which ones make for flaky minions and haven’t been invited into this plot by yours truly.”

 "Ah. Thank you?"  

 

~

 

 “After my parents’ marriage, there are… scars in the clan,” Hashirama explained.

 “Some of his elders are mildly traumatized by a deeply resentful union between their Clan Head and a strong-minded woman who hated him back just as strongly,” Katsumi said, bluntly expanding upon the issue that Hashirama had explained to her the day before. “If they’re smart, which is always in doubt despite how we musn't underestimate our enemies, they should have no desire to go through the same thing again.”

 Katsumi’s cousin Kaito nodded in understanding. “Right, I can… probably do that,” he said.

 Katsumi’s eyes narrowed. “What’s this ‘probably’ you speak of, Kaito? I don't like the sound of 'probably'.”

 “Well, you know I have a very flexible love-hate relationship with the truth, my dear Katsumi.”

 “You love lying.”

 “I do,” Kaito sighed wistfully. “So, _so_ much. But that’s the problem, my dear Katsumi. I’m going to be selling these Senju elders and diplomats and clan head whatevers on a story where you’re a hateful harridan who’ll live to make all their lives miserable, but… there’s just no lie there. Where’s the lie, Katsumi?”

 Hashirama, despite frequent accusations, was not this much of a fool. He edged away from his too-still betrothed, who exuding something a step to the left of killing intent, and her cousin, who had – to be fair, upon Katsumi’s terse demand that he “introduce himself without lying about it” – introduced himself by saying, “Hello. My name is Kaito and I love to start shit.”

 Katsumi took a deep breath and told her cousin, “If it hadn’t been for the hem of this dress, I would have killed you. Those are fighting words, Kaito." 

 "They sure are."

 "As it is, unfortunately, we have to get going. Do you have the names memorized?”

 “Oh, yeah, no problem there. Farewell, big tree man already running away from us! I’m looking forward to ruining your wedding!”

 

 ~

 

 “Don’t feel upset, dear,” Uzumaki Masaki told him kindly, over the lunch she’d insisted they join. “It’s not that Katsumi doesn’t want to marry _you._ ”

 “I truly don't wish to marry him, Auntie.”  

 Masaki ignored her niece. “It’s just that this is her home and she doesn’t want to leave it. It’s nothing personal.”

 “Well, that’s true.”

 “You’re a handsome, talented, well-spoken young man with many gifts,” Uzumaki Masaki pronounced sincerely to a near-complete stranger, as she continued to fill his plate with food, “and I’m sure you’ll make some wonderful man – or woman, I don’t mean to presume – very happy someday. Katsumi won’t say as much, but she’s also very grateful. Thank you so much for being such an understanding gentleman about this.”

 “You're, um, welcome,” Hashirama said and warily watched the height of his meal climb.

 Masaki noticed. “Oh? I’m sorry, am I serving you poorly? You’re a growing boy and you’ve spent all day plotting with our Katsumi and meeting people. I’ll get another plate.”

  _Please don’t,_ Hashirama wanted to say, but she was already gone.

 He looked towards Katsumi for help, but Katsumi was busy counting off conspirators on her fingers. “Auntie Masaki, as a historian of our clan, will make sure that Lee and Rei don’t make my many accomplishments seem like I’d be too appealing an asset, which when combined with Kaito’s smear campaign and Ayane’s talent for fear-mongering, as well as Auntie Masaki’s wife Mami’s assistance, will… What? Whatever is the matter now, flower boy? Are you quietly dying? Are you allergic to something?”

 “I’m not sure I can eat this much food,” Hashirama confessed.

 Katsumi looks doubtfully at the mountain of food in front of him, then at him. “Really?”

 “Maybe if I had been _training_ all day! But I've barely done anything for a week!"

 “Well, just tell Auntie that you have no need to eat your feelings – it’s not personal, she's of the fixed opinion that everyone needs to eat their feelings, good or bad, all the time, she loves food more than anything else in this world besides her wife – and I’ll have someone beat you up later. We’re off to see Cousin Kiyoshi the conspirator after next, he’ll be more than happy to oblige us.”

 

 ~

 

 Uzumaki Kiyoshi, Katsumi’s cousin a few years older than them, was much like every other of the dozens of Uzumaki whom Hashirama had met today, in that he was red-haired and had a knowing glint in his eyes. He appeared to be of the cheerful variety and Hashirama liked him immediately, and was quick to offer a hand to help the young man out of his boat and onto the dock where Hashirama and Katsumi stood above him.

 “Thanks for the offer,” Kiyoshi said cheerfully, “but you might want to retract it.”

 “Pardon?”

 “It’s nothing personal,” Kiyoshi said and waved a hand dismissively, and Hashirama suddenly realized that the man didn’t have a hand. Not in the way that he’d lost a limb, which was ordinary enough, but in that he’d lost a limb and had it replaced with a different sort of limb. “But some people just aren’t ready for this, y’know?” He winked. “It’s a lot to handle.”

 It was a lot to handle. Hashirama stared, frozen, at the infamous cousin with octopus arms.

 “Anyway, I need to get out of this boat now,” Kiyoshi continued. “So! I’m going to need you to get out of my way. I love how you love to watch new people meet me, Katsumi. It brings joy to my squishy heart to be constantly reminded of my mistakes and watch you trick them into offering to shake my hand.”

 “Mm,” Katsumi said innocently.

 “It’s alright, Senju, you can quit here. No one will blame you.”

 “I will,” Katsumi said.

 “No one whose opinion matters,” Kiyoshi corrected.

 “Oh, thank you for that, cousin”

 Hashirama stayed where he was, looking between his hand and the suckers on the man’s nonhuman arms. “…No,” he said finally, determined and cheerful. “I have committed to this and I now want to see how this goes. This seems like a once in a lifetime experience.”

 Uzumaki Kiyoshi raised his eyebrows, then he looked at Katsumi. “I like him. Alright, you asked for it.”

 Kiyoshi wrapped his arm around Hashirama’s offered hand and forearm, and Hashirama pulled him up out of the boat. It was… very squishy and slightly sticky and very wet. It sent a shiver down Hashirama’s spine and absolutely felt like a once in a lifetime experience. Kiyoshi didn’t let go immediately once he was on the dock and Hashirama took the opportunity to shake an octopus’ arm. It was still very squishy and slightly stick and very wet. It was also surprisingly  _very strong._

 “This is amazing. How are your arms dripping like this?” Hashirama said wondrously.

 “Oh, a complex set of seals tattooed on my shoulders so my arms don’t dry out like sushi left out in the sun,” Kiyoshi answered happily, as they kept shaking hand and arm. “Also, on that related note, you may smell a lot like fish for the rest of the day. It’s an unfortunate side effect, but sometimes I forget because everything smells like fish here on this island all the time. The delight of the seaside, you know.”

 “That’s fine,” Hashirama said immediately.

 Kiyoshi patted him on the cheek with his other arm. It was also very squishy, sticky, and wet. “You’re adorable. I love you. Katsumi, are you sure I can’t marry him?”

 “If we could have swapped, you would already be wedded to him,” Princess Katsumi said sincerely. “Feel free to flirt with my dear betrothed as much as you like, however, Kiyo, as I have no intention whatsoever of marrying him. Anything short of elopement is perfectly permissible, at least by me. I don't know his personal flirting preferences.”

 “Flirting?” Hashirama repeated, alarmed.

 “I’m a very physically affectionate person and I’ve been told it’s a truly unique experience now,” Kiyoshi explained.  

 “It really is,” Katsumi confirmed. “You truly haven’t been slapped playfully on the ass after a spar until he’s done it. It truly is an unfortunately unique and disturbingly memorable experience. It's not, however, once in a lifetime if you see him frequently or even more than once. Kiyoshi, we just rolled ourselves away from Auntie Masaki’s generously laden table about an hour ago, are you up for an afternoon spar and some light-to-medium conspiracy?”

 “I’m an Uzumaki, aren’t I? Of course I am!” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think I was going to introduce octopus arms guy, but I felt I had to. Don't worry, I'll get Tobirama out of that room eventually. I've had this exchange in my head for a while about Tobirama meeting octopus arms guy: 
> 
> Hashirama: He's nice, right?  
> Tobirama: Too nice.  
> Hashirama: *observing Tobi watching the guy REALLY closely, even licking his lips*  
> Hashirama: ...Are you thinking about eating his arms?  
> Tobirama: *lying badly* No.


	7. Chapter 7

 Hashirama and his betrothed finished their tour of the island with the tidepools that Katsumi had originally promised him. It was late afternoon now and Hashirama head was a whirlpool of plotting; he would have felt sorry for his clan if he didn’t desperately want out of this marriage and wasn’t still reeling from sparring with a man with octopus arms.

 Kiyoshi had been disturbingly flexible and Hashirama’s mind kept flitting back to the experience whenever he tried to think straight. The man had not only adapted to his curse, but _thrived._

 Octopus arms _were_ apparently very useful. They had been very strong, very flexible, very dexterous – all _much_ more so than Hashirama, truly _greatly_ more so – and generally impossible to get a proper hold on. They could hold multiple weapons and, much to Hashirama’s surprise, had the dexterity to _undo_ armour and clothes while grappling. Between that and the light marks left behind on skin by the suckers, which were probably capable of more damage than they’d done, any person who entered a sparring match with Katsumi’s cousin Kiyoshi left looking thoroughly, unnaturally debauched.

 Kiyoshi had thoroughly kicked Hashirama’s ass in sparring match after sparring match – they had been matches without jutsu, which was a shame because Hashirama’s mind now refused to let up on wondering _how exactly_ one accomplished any sort of hand sign with octopus arms – and, truly, any form of physical affection from the man had been a unique and memorable experience.

 Hashirama had liked him very much.

 “Today has been a very productive day for our plot,” Katsumi said, pleased, as they walked along the beach. “Don’t bother to worry about our tour, all of my family members will report that I was frigid like ice and that we found each other ‘thoroughly disagreeable’. Auntie Mami and company will push the need for and benefits of an alliance without marriage.”

 The thing was, now that he’d known her for longer, Hashirama didn’t think he’d overly mind being married to a friend like Princess Katsumi. He found her occasionally abrasive and slightly mean, but if Hashirama found those traits disagreeable, he’d have lost most of his closest loved ones long ago. Not everyone could be as kind as his brother Itama, who was not without his own moments of unimpressed disbelief at something foolish Hashirama had done.

 Hashirama found Katsumi admirable. She was driven, even if he was coming to see that she didn’t really do subtlety. Oh, she could lie and pull underhanded tactics, she could dance around a subject and extract information, but Katsumi preferred to be ironically direct about it. Straightforward and to the point. When she approached a problem to solve it, Hashirama had observed that Katsumi resorted to one of two methods best described as a) blunt or b) blunt instrument.

 Still, though he wouldn’t _mind_ doing so, he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life with her. He had seen today how much she loved her clan, her land, and her people, and he could respect that. She didn’t want him and didn’t want to want him, and he didn’t want a marriage of bitterness and obligation.  

 It was still a little disappointing and embarrassing, to have all his dreams of love shot down so completely like this, but opportunities for true love might still await him now and that was a buoying thought. It carried him down the beach, walking side by side with his unexpected but much appreciated new friend and fellow dreamer.

 “Thank you for today, princess,” Hashirama said. “I had fun.”

 Princess Katsumi thought about it. “You’re welcome, flower boy. I had fun as well, even though fun was far from our purpose today.” She looked at him squarely, as though she was preparing to stick out a hand and make some official vow. “I think that you and I will truly be excellent allies someday, as well as good friends. I look forward to working with you as equals in the future, Lord Hashirama.”

 “And I you-”

 “And, of course, with your brother,” Katsumi finished.

 It sounded like teasing, but Hashirama couldn’t take the chance that she really was out to steal his brother. This sort of thing had never happened to him before, no one had ever wanted to steal his brothers from him before, and he didn’t like even the possibility in the slightest.

 “I don’t have a brother,” Hashirama said immediately. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 Katsumi laughed in his face. No, she _cackled_ in his face and wiped away a tear that was definitely pretend. “Oh, of course, my lord” she demurred – _badly,_ in Hashirama’s opinion. “You don’t have a brother and I’m not now spectacularly interested in scheming to meet him.”

 Hashirama tried to make a sufficiently witty response that would immediately cut this potential brother-stealer down to size. All he managed to do was make a sound like he was dying.

 Katsumi smiled at him. It was very smug.

 “Not to change the subject in an obvious manner, out of courtesy for an outmatched new friend, but this way to my favourite tidepool,” she said, leading him towards a cluster of rocks on the low-tide beach. “It’ll be accessible at this time of day.”

 They settled down next to a large tidepool, where Princess Katsumi was quick to point out adorable fish and crabs and – Katsumi had squeaked upon spotting this creature and immediately pretended she hadn’t done so – even a baby octopus. The baby octopus was the cutest thing that Hashirama had ever seen in his life. It was immediately distracting. It was overwhelmingly adorable.

 It was also, according to Katsumi, incredibly venomous. She pre-emptively stopped him from touching it with a warning – not that Hashirama had actually been about to try, knowing better than to bother an animal in that way – and Hashirama thought was the last straw. He was sure that she didn’t want him dead now and really did want to be friends. That was a heady poison in itself, he thought.  

 They stayed there and watched the tidepool in silence for a while. It was warm in the sun, but the breeze coming in from the ocean was nearly cold. It was nice.

 “You have a beautiful home, princess,” Hashirama said finally.

 “Thank you,” Katsumi answered. “Maybe someday I can visit your home too – as Uzumaki Clan Head, of course, not as your wife – and you can show me whatever it is that makes your forests so beautiful to you. I would like to see Fire Country set ablaze in autumn.”

 She then added slyly: I’m sure you have your own particularly interesting family members to introduce as well.”

 She might have been teasing him about Tobirama again, but Hashirama was caught up in thinking over the most interesting members of his clan. Hashirama’s brothers might have been nonhuman, but… “Not nearly as interesting as yours, I think.” Neither Tobi nor Itama had _octopus_ arms. “But we would be glad to receive you, princess. Fire Country is hardly as peaceful as your island, however, so-”

 “Uzushio is rarely as peaceful as it is now,” Katsumi corrected. “We stand in the way of the raiders of the east and to a lesser degree the strongholds of the north, and the wealth of the west, which is why we need this alliance with your clan.”

 She didn’t sound mad about that this time. Hashirama still listened attentively. 

 “You wouldn’t know this, not being privy to Uzushio history and the history of my clan, but you and your clan are currently privileged to see the most protected part of the strongest island, my lord. This island is where my clan was founded, and not all Uzushio coasts have been similarly so blessed.”

 “…My apologies, princess.”

 “You don’t live here and we’ve been careful not to seem weak,” Katsumi replied. “My father would die of the shame. Sometimes, when the peaceful seasons pass, it seems all we have is our pride.”

 “Sometimes our people suffer for that,” Hashirama said thoughtfully.

 “And sometimes it’s all that keeps them going,” Katsumi countered easily. “An outsider can hardly know what it’s like to live anywhere. I wouldn’t know the first danger of living in your seas of forests. I would guess it to be your clan’s infamous feud with those Uchiha to the west.”

 “An accurate guess,” Hashirama sighed.

 It was easy to pretend that those problems didn’t exist on these beaches – that no problems existed on these beaches. That the Senju weren’t at war with the Uchiha, that their livelihood wasn’t often paid for in other people’s lives, and that his greatest concern in life truly was an arranged marriage to a woman who wanted nothing to do with him as a romantic interest. Or even that his greatest concern in life was the livelihood of a baby octopus, swimming about in a tidepool.

 “I wish the world was as at peace as it seems in these moments,” he said to Katsumi.

 She sighed. “Me too.”

 

 ~

 

 “Will it seem odd that we’ve disappeared together like this?” Hashirama asked finally.

 They had finished all their plotting on the walk here and though Katsumi said their actions today needed time to settle, Hashirama was still nervous. After all the secretive scheming today, he couldn’t help but be filled with nervous energy. Souma, at least, was sure to offer up the traditional mockery of an annoying older cousin stubbornly continuing to get the wrong idea about a boy and girl running off anywhere to be alone together.

 “Perhaps,” Katsumi replied. “We’ll have to be careful not to keep company like this again, but after we deem this outing an abysmal failure, it shouldn’t raise suspicions so long as we abstain from future outings. If we continue to disappear alone together, for hours on end, it will look odd.”

 “That’s a shame,” Hashirama said.

 Katsumi raised her brows at him. After sparring with her cousin, she’d cleaned her paint away, and while Hashirama found her far less intimidating like this, she was still somewhat intimidating.

 “They’ll think we’re having sex,” she said.

 Hashirama choked on nothing. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

 “Don’t worry, flower boy,” Katsumi assured him. “I really, _really_ didn’t think that you did.”

 “Oh… good. I just… I just mean that It’s pleasant to get away from everyone like this,” Hashirama explained. His cheeks felt like they were burning now and he needed a moment to kick those new intrusive thoughts right back out of his head.  

 “An unsupervised plot is bound to end in disaster,” Katsumi replied, essentially unaffected. “I’ve found they have to be strictly managed, you know, or else they go horribly awry, but… yes, it’s nice to be without the pressures of responsibility for a while.”

 She then said, in a voice that sounded like teasing again, “You make for a passable companion, my lord.” She sounded almost like she was imitating someone, but Hashirama couldn’t place the impression even as she continued, “Almost tolerable. Though I hope the need should never arise, I would deign to scheme with you again.”

 “I’m honoured,” Hashirama replied. “I would scheme you again as well, princess.”

 “Of course you would.”

 After several seconds of silence, Hashirama finally asked, “Is there anyone you would rather be keeping company with, princess?”

 “Pardon?”

 “Have you ever been in love?” Hashirama elaborated. “I’m sorry if this is too personal a question.”

 “Too personal a question from a man I’m in a mutually unwilling arranged marriage with?” Princess Katsumi said wryly. “Hm. To answer your question, however: I don’t know. I’ve done everything I can for my clan and thought: _yes, I want to do this for the rest of my life._ I’ve never met a person outside of my own family and had a similar thought – the thought that I wanted them in my life for the rest of it. At least, I haven’t had this thought romantically. What about you?”

 “I feel much the same,” Hashirama said. “Perhaps exactly the same. I don’t know; at least, not romantically. I had a friend once whom I felt that way about, but we were young and he was from another clan. It ended badly and we haven’t been allowed to be close in a long time. I never had the opportunity to find out if it was love. _That_ kind of love.”

 “…My condolences for your loss,” Katsumi said.

 “Thank you. We were only friends, though.”

 “It’s still a loss, flower boy. You made me feel sorry for you. Own it.”

 Hashirama laughed, though his heart wasn’t in it. “And you? Do you have a long-lost friend?”

 “Not lost, just a close friend. She’s also from another clan, but one allied to our own instead of the enemy clan I’m presuming yours to have been from.”

 Hashirama didn’t confirm Katsumi’s presumption one way or another. “What’s she like?”

 Katsumi hummed, keeping her eyes fixed on the tidepool. “Sweet. Kind. Fully capable of flattening me in unarmed, mundane combat, much to my embarrassment.”

 “That’s nice. What does she look like?”

 “…Why?”

 “Because there’s a young woman who doesn’t have red hair waving at us from a small sailboat, like she knows you,” Hashirama answered, and waved back to the stranger. “I’m sorry; I only noticed her on the horizon after you apologized for my loss. Should we go raise an alarm or prepare to fight? Sorry, but, um, I assumed anyone waving at us was most likely just another one of your cousins.”

 Katsumi sighed away her sudden stiffness, as she too waved back. “No, that _is_ her.”

 “She’s very pretty,” Hashirama volunteered.

 “She isn’t supposed to be here no matter how pretty she is,” Katsumi grumbled as she got to her feet, waving away any attempts at assistance from Hashirama. She picked up the hem of her dressed and walked determinedly to the edge of the sea, to meet the sailboat that was very quickly getting closer.

 After a moment’s deliberation, Hashirama followed her, standing a respectful distance away.

 Katsumi cupped her hands around her mouth. “AI, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

 The sailboat slowed as it came around and the short-haired blonde girl, who was indeed very pretty, leaned over the side and shouted, “YOUR COUSIN KAITO SAID YOU WERE FREE!” She looked at Hashirama and waved again; her smile was warm and bright like sunshine. “HEY! I’M KOIZUMI AI, IT’S NICE TO MEET YOU!”

 Hashirama waved back and called, “The pleasure is all mine! I’m Senju Hashirama!”

 The young woman, Ai, went wide eyed and said, “Oh, shit.”

 Then the boom of her sailboat came around while she was distracted and knocked her out of her own boat. She fell into the water face first, while her boat spun slowly on without her.

 Princess Katsumi put her face her in hands.

 “Is she alright?” Hashirama said.

 “Physically, yes.”

 “She seems nice,” Hashirama offered.

 “You aren’t allowed to like her,” Princess Katsumi said firmly, as her friend surfaced.

 “Oh, no, my boat!” Ai shouted, and swum desperately after it. She was a very good swimmer and caught up with it quickly, clambering somewhat gracelessly up the side. 

 “Why not?” Hashirama asked his betrothed.

 “Because I said so.”

 Hashirama had never let “ _because I said so”_ stop him from liking someone and he was hardly about to stop now. In fact, in his experience, _“because I said so”_ from his father was practically a glowing recommendation. Tobirama and Madara both proved that, as did Touka and Touka’s mother, though… Tobirama and Madara might separately kill him for being put in the same category.

 “Ai, what are you doing here?” Katsumi demanded, as the woman and her boat made her way towards the beach.

 “I wanted to see how your betrothal was faring and Kaito said you were over here and free,” Ai said, and looked nervously towards Hashirama. “So, this is the lucky groom?” She waved again. “Hello again, sir. It’s nice to meet you.”

 Hashirama waved back again. “Hello, it’s-”

 “Why would you believe anything that liar Kaito says?” Katsumi demanded in exasperation.

 “I don’t know,” Ai said. Then admitted, “I wanted to see you.”

 She beached her sailboat and hopped out, dripping wet, dressed in little more than a sleeveless tunic and some loose trousers. She was even shorter than Katsumi, though not by much and she was more hard-muscled than plump, and Hashirama felt like a lumbering giant among them. Katsumi’s friend shuffled nervously in front of him, pink under her many freckles, and waved again.  

 “Please stop waving,” Katsumi said.

 Hashirama waved back. “It’s alright,” he assured them both, and bowed. “Greetings, I am Senju Hashirama, heir of the Senju Clan of eastern Fire Country, and yes, I have agreed not to marry your friend if possible. It is a pleasure to make the acquaintance of a friend of the princess.”

 “Ai of the Koizumi Clan of Whirlpool Country,” the drenched woman said, and bowed back, beaming. “Congratulations!”

 “For what?”

 “Uh, well, not getting married, I suppose?” Ai offered, then awkwardly tacked on: “My lord.”

 “Oh, thank you.”

 “Your fervent concern is always appreciated, you know, Ai,” Katsumi interrupted, “but we’re in middle of some delicate plotting and you’re… terribly suited to complex plotting. I don’t want to be rude, but you’re unfailingly honest and undeservedly considerate of other people’s feelings.”

 “Thank you, Katsumi!” Ai said brightly, her cheeks slightly pinked.

 “It wasn’t a compliment.”

 “It sounded very much like a compliment,” Hashirama said.

 “Perhaps in _other_ contexts, flower boy, but Ai simply doesn’t have the necessary opposite disposition for this sort of delicate affair, no matter how well-meaning and earnest she may initially seem. She has a great deal of aptitude, but not the attitude, I’m afraid. As I have said before: aptitude can be made up for, but attitude is crucial.”

 “I said I was _sorry!_ It’s been over _ten years!”_

 “Oh, are you the one who helped Princess Katsumi fake her death?” Hashirama asked curiously.

 “The one who _failed_ to help Katsumi fake her death,” Katsumi said bitterly.

 “I said I was _sorry!”_ Ai wailed again. “It was so mean! Nana was so sad!”

 “Hm,” Katsumi said, like the hurt feelings of her relatives hadn’t factored into the issue. At least, not as anything besides leverage for whatever plot she’d been concocting as a young girl – Katsumi wasn’t old, she couldn’t have been older than ten years old or so at the time – who thought it was acceptable to fake her death for any reason.

 Though he was not here and they hadn’t met, Hashirama could practically _feel_ Tobirama’s approval. It was a feeling that called for a simile a step to the left of the currently ironic phrase: “feeling like someone walked over your grave”. Hashirama almost shuddered.

 “I’m sorry for interrupting, Katsumi,” Ai said sincerely, and took her hands. “I just wanted to make sure that you were well and that everything was going according to your plans. I’ll leave you alone now.”

 Katsumi frowned like she was torn.

 “You don’t have to leave,” Hashirama objected suddenly.

 Ai’s head whipped around so fast that it nearly cracked, and both Hashirama and Katsumi were sprinkled with water because she was still dripping wet. Hashirama blinked sea water out of his eyes, while Katsumi just sighed again. Ai looked mortified.

 “I… am… _so sorry,_ my lord.”

 “It’s fine,” Hashirama assured her. “You are welcome to stay, if you and Princess Katsumi would like to keep company. I hear that you are very good friends.”

 Ai went bright pink. “That’s… very kind of you, my lord, but…”

 “You can just call me Hashirama,” he assured her again. He looked at Katsumi then. “I would offer you the same, princess, but… we will be pretending to hate each other’s company and each other so… I assume that signs of familiarly like so are firmly discouraged between us in the company of others.”

 “You assume rightly, my lord.”

 “However, we are not among our clansmen at the moment and this may be one of our only afternoons free of prying eyes, and I believe we are finished all our business for the day,” Hashirama continued. He looked at Ai again. “If you and the princess wish to spend your time together, I wish you well. I have been assured that my new friend, Princess Katsumi, has far better things to do than entertain me.”

 “That’s true,” Katsumi admitted bluntly.

 “Well, if… if you’re fine with it, my lord.” Ai looked hopefully towards her friend, beaming, and it again resembled sunshine. In the face of such overwhelming, soaking wet brightness, Katsumi appeared to be thinking it over this changing of her plans carefully.

 “We can return separately,” Hashirama pointed out. “Perhaps we fought and grew sick of each other’s company, and decided to part ways before we said or did something we would later regret.”

 “That’s… not a bad plan,” Katsumi admitted, then straightened. “Please excuse me, my lord flower boy and dear new friend, but I can no longer stand your company. I trust that you can make your own way back to the compound without getting terribly lost or eaten – though it might appear on the surface that this would solve all my problems, it would cause a great deal of trouble for me and my clan if some terrible and embarrassing fate were to befall you, like falling down a hole. So, you know, don’t do that.”

 “I’ll keep that in mind,” Hashirama promised.

 “Shall we, Ai?” Katsumi swept forward and climbed into her friend’s boat, uncaring of how this soaked the hem of her dress. “You know, I did consider getting myself kidnapped by pirates to avoid any arranged marriages, but I couldn’t chance the possibility of getting rescued or the thought that I couldn’t rescue myself. No one would ever believe it.”

 “I certainly wouldn’t,” Hashirama agreed, as Ai quickly began shoving at her sailboat to push off before Katsumi changed her mind. “Here, Lady Koizumi, allow me.”

 “Oh, I’m not a lady! But thank you!”

 Ai clambered into her boat and Hashirama quickly stepped into the water to push the two women out of the sand. It wasn’t a large sailboat, so it was easy, and Katsumi and Ai were soon floating away. Princess Uzumaki Katsumi, without her face paint and relaxed in a decidedly unladylike pose, looked happier and more relaxed than Hashirama had ever seen her.

 He waved as they sailed off. “Have fun!”

 Ai waved back, her cheeks pink and her smile sunshine bright. “Thank you again, my lord!”

 They drifted farther away and another thought occurred to Hashirama. He walked a little farther into the water, until it was up to his knees, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Princess! Wait, princess! HEY! _KATSUMI!”_

 Katsumi learned over the edge of the boat. “WHAT?”

 “You should take the opportunity to find out!” Hashirama shouted after her.

 Katsumi went wide-eyed, before she scowled at him and put her finger over her mouth, before she dragged the other one over her throat. Ai, who couldn’t have seen that threatening gesture clearly, looked between them both.

 Carried by the wind, Hashirama heard her ask his new friend, “Find out what?”

 

~

 

 Hashirama stood in the sea and watched his betrothed and her friend until they were no more than a speck on the horizon. There wasn’t much entertainment in watching a speck disappear and a high wave had rolled in to soaked him up to the lower thighs, so Hashirama turned back around. He intended to go back to the tidepool, he was curious to see if he could grow seaweed and other aquatic plant life just as well as he could grow plant life that wasn’t submerged.

 His intentions were awry as he came face to face with someone standing a few paces behind him. Well, their face came against his chest. They were very short. He was looking down, however, as she was looking up, so Hashirama once again, for a third time, came face to face with the sea witch.

 He reared backwards in surprise and toppled over into the water with a yelp.

 Unfortunately, after falling over, there was never anything else to do besides get up. With the waves gently crashing over his head, Hashirama had to get up or drown. So, he sat up and coughed out sea water, and immediately found that he couldn’t see anything because his long hair was now soaking wet and hanging in his face. Through the wet curtain, he could see slivers of the witch and he didn’t want to see anything more. His face felt like it was on fire and, instead of getting up, he wanted nothing more than to sit back and drown himself to put it out.

 Yet again, however, it seemed what Hashirama wanted didn’t matter. A golden hand with sharp, pearly claws reached forward and gently grabbed his hair. The sea witch, bent down, lifted the curtain of hair out of her way to come face to face with him again. She looked unimpressed but very amused.

 “…Hello,” Hashirama said awkwardly, as another wave lapped at his back.

 His formal clothes were likely ruined now. He probably looked like a half-drowned monkey. It didn’t help that the witch, whose unimpressed expression was slowly turning fully into an expression of smiling amusement, looked as wildly beautiful as before. More so, even.

 Her blood red hair was woven back into two long braids, the ends of which were left to float in the water. Her dress was long and dragged at the ends, but it was slit at the sides and sleeveless and the wide neckline fell to her stomach again. This time, the dress seemed to be made of fish scales – thousands of them, if not millions – in every shade of blue imaginable and with a rainbow gleam in the afternoon light. The scales clung to the fat of her thighs and curve of her breasts with a particularly dangerous shine.

 Necklaces of shells clacked as she leaned over him, keeping the golden expanse of her chest at least somewhat covered. Not that Hashirama was looking at that area in particular, of course, because he had not forgotten the importance of being polite. It was just that it was all right there above him and he did have peripheral vision.

 The witch’s eyes were still dark as coal, but they were dancing with amusement now. As she smiled down at his misfortune, her teeth were still very sharp and very frightening, but that didn’t make it any less of beautiful smile.

 “Hello, Man of Trees and Flowers,” she said. “You are in my sea now. I would not have thought that the salt water was a desirable bath to one so close to green things.”

 It took Hashirama a moment to realize she was teasing and he felt heat creeping up his face.

 “Hello,” he said, with as much dignity as he could muster. Sometimes it felt like Hashirama had lost so much dignity that he had achieved dignity from the other side. “You took me by surprise there. I… didn’t expect to see you again. How are you?”

 “I am well, thank you,” the witch said, sounding pleased by the question. “You seem in much higher spirits today, Man of Trees and Flowers,” she observed, beginning to twirl the hair she was holding out of her face around her clawed fingers. “Did you or did you not just urge your betrothed to run away across the sea with her young lover to escape your coming, undesired arranged marriage?”

 “Oh, I did, but she’s not running away,” Hashirama answered cheerfully. “They’re not lovers, though I think they would like to be. They’re only spending some time together, free from prying eyes, before my betrothed returns and continues helping me have our clans call off the marriage – though perhaps it’s more accurate to say that I will continue helping her.”

 “I see,” the witch said thoughtfully.

 Hashirama had almost given up on standing, as more waves broke over his back as though to emphasis that his clothes were truly ruined, when the witch twirled his hair off her fingers. She let his long hair smack wetly into his face. Since he wanted to see, Hashirama lifted the curtain of wet hair out of his face, carefully flipping it back, and looked beseeching up at the witch for having done that.

 The witch, however, was looking out over the ocean with a still thoughtful expression. Like she could somehow see Princess Katsumi and her friend, somewhere out there on the waves, and didn’t quite know what to make of the situation. It looked as though she did not, in fact, see.

 “…Were you… watching us?” Hashirama asked, as he pushed himself back to his feet.

 It was uncomfortable standing up, all his soaked clothes clung to him apparently having become twice as heavy, but he didn’t want to _keep_ sitting in the water at the feet of a witch. Especially when he was now essentially accusing her of spying on his and Princess Katsumi’s conservation.

 “…Perhaps. You were, after all, Man of Trees and Flowers, on my beach.”

 Hashirama supposed she had warned him of this before. As a shinobi, he had to respect the “you did not know I was there or stop me” excuse for eavesdropping, but as a person, he rather wished his privacy had been respected. How was he supposed to, on a beach, sense a witch who blended in so perfectly with the waves and the wild of the sea?

 “I caught only the last pieces of your conversation, when the girl on the boat arrived,” the witch admitted. She finally looked back at him to fix him in a particularly shrewd stare. “So, it is Katsumi to whom you are unwillingly betrothed.”

 “Mutually unwillingly betrothed,” Hashirama corrected. “We are working on it.”

 “Hmm,” the witch said.

 Then, as though she had suddenly realized he was soaking wet, the witch’s eyes flicked downwards, and then she looked Hashirama over fully, up and down. Hashirama’s was suddenly aware that his collar had fallen open again, his fixing of his appearance had been very hasty after his spar with octopus-arms Kiyoshi, and that his clothes really were plastered to every line of his body. Hashirama had thought he probably looked like a drowned rat, but the witch’s gaze told him a different story.

 He felt… he felt a way he never really had before: like prey meeting a fascinated predator. The warmth that had been lingering in his face was suddenly very hot, his feet itched, and he honestly could not have said whether he disliked this feeling or actually liked it.

 He felt like a man in front of a fascinated witch.

 The witch looked back up at his face and raised her brows. Hashirama had no idea what kind of point she might have been trying to make by this. It wasn’t very fair of her to judge his appearance, considering she’d been the reason he toppled over and that her fishscale dress bared an awful lot golden skin that Hashirama was very politely, very desperately trying not to give his own once-over.

 “You know Princess Katsumi?” Hashirama blurted, desperate for a distraction.

 The witch inclined her head. “I am acquainted with her. I taught her how to dive and her mother before her, and all the ruling children of the line of Uzumaki who came willing to be taught. I recall her to be… a particularly obstinate human child.”

 “She wants to be the leader of the Uzumaki Clan someday,” Hashirama confessed. “I think she may already be, in part.” As Hashirama was closing in on his father, much to their mutual wariness, so Princess Katsumi was likely closing in on her own father. “She loves this land too much for me to take any joy in taking her away from it, away from all she knows to struggle in a new and strange land, and they love her too much in turn.”

 “…I have observed this,” the witch said. “Do you feel that you love her as well?”

 Hashirama squawked at this, much against his will. “No! No, I do not love her, nor do I feel that I do!”

 “Is there a difference?”

 “I have known her so short a time! _Too_ short a time!”

 “Mortal men do everything in so short a time,” the witch said, with a confused sort of frown. “I have heard it said that it happens in an instant. At first sight. Like a strike of lightning. How long does it truly take a mortal man to fall in love?”

 “I… I don’t know,” Hashirama admitted. “A longer time than this.”

 Hashirama would be the first to admit that he didn’t know much of love. What Hashirama mostly remembered from his own experiences with love was _choosing_ to love someone. Love as a longer thing… a slow-growing thing that needed nurturing and care. He hadn’t fallen in love with Tobirama, his new brother, at first sight, but he had made the decision to love his new brothers no matter where they had come from. He hadn’t fallen in love with Madara at first sight, but he remembers being determined to become friends despite Madara being… well… Madara.

 There were times when love had felt like an obligation, but Hashirama remembered the choice to pursue it anyway. To love his brothers even when it was hard. There was… unfortunately… also times when love had felt like a truly burdensome inheritance, a potentially bitter thing that had been with him for all his life. A love similar to the sort he and Princess Katsumi were trying now to avoid.

 “I don’t think the strike of lightning is love,” he said finally. “If it is, then love is a thing with many definitions. Princess Katsumi and I love our clans and our countries… our families and friends… too much to let a lightning strike, no matter how bright in the moment, lead us astray from ourselves.” After a few seconds of thought, he added, “If our homes did not love us in return, then perhaps it would be different. Perhaps we might decide the lightning strike would be enough.”

 Perhaps loneliness could make them more desperate for any form of love.

 The witch was staring at him thoughtfully through this. Hashirama waited politely for her response, standing in the waves, between him and the land. Thankfully for his nerves, he did not wait long.

 “Hmm,” she said.

 Thanks to his nerves, Hashirama could have toppled over again at that terse response.

 “If love is a thing with many definitions, then perhaps it should be more than one word,” the witch then continued, with a distinctly unhappy note. “The more I come to know of it, the less I understand of it,” she complained, as though she had been asking after the truth of love for a long time.

 “Perhaps it is a definition that each must come to make on their own,” Hashirama suggested.

 “...Perhaps it is,” the witch agreed, though she still looked unhappy.

 Hashirama watched her thoughtful face and wondered if witches felt love. If witches could be angry, then surely they could love.

 He wondered: _How long does it truly take a witch to fall in love?_  

 “Your bride has left you alone to keep company with her lover instead,” the witch said abruptly.

 “Yes, she has,” Hashirama said, confused at the change in subject.

 He was also mildly disgruntled by the shift in topic. It was true enough that his betrothed had left him to spend time with her friend, but they didn’t have to keep going over that point again and again. Hashirama’s ego was not so delicate as to be destroyed by Princess Katsumi's disinterest and the dashing of any romantic hopes he might have harboured, but at all this poking his poor ego would eventually bruise.

 The witch lifted her chin. “Very well, I will keep you company.”

 “…What?”

 “I will keep you company, Man of Trees and Flowers,” the witch repeated tersely. “Unless you are so foolish to reject the gift of my company.”

 “No! No, I would be glad to have your company again,” Hashirama assured her. Not simply because he did not wish to offend her, but because it was true. “I enjoyed having your company before; I’m just surprised that you’re willing to give me such a gift.”

 “Of course. Rightly so.”

 A silence fell between them. Hashirama sought for some way to fill it. For some reason, it didn’t occur to him to ask to move out of the water and back to land, perhaps because his clothes were already wet. This reason may have been that it was quite distracting to realize that he seemed to be forming a genuine friendship with a witch. Against all the dangers of befriending such a powerful and potentially dangerous spirit.  

 “You may call me Hashirama, if you would like.”

 The witch blinked at him. “Pardon?”

 “You can call me by name, if you like, instead of ‘Man of Trees and Flowers’,” Hashirama said awkwardly. “Such a title is… accurate… but somewhat long.”

 “…I see.”

 “I… I would like to know your name, if you would share it,” Hashirama said. “I’ve been thinking of you as ‘the witch’ in my head and, if we are to keep company so frequently, I would like to know your name… or simply the correct way to address you, if you would.”

 He had heard the stories where it was said to be a bad idea to give your name to a spirit, most often because it seemed to permit a person be more easily found by a spirit. However, Hashirama was currently on an island that was not all that large, which already belonged to the witch and was full of very talkative Uzumakis, so it seemed to him that she could find him regardless. If she truly wanted to find him or kill him, there was likely very little that a lack of name would do to stop her. Hashirama also thought that she seemed a reasonable person so far - she didn't truly seem exceedingly more dangerous than the many deadly people in his life already; whatever powers she had didn't matter if she was disinclined to use them - and he did not especially wish to begin a new friendship so controlled by withheld names yet again.

 Besides, his mother had raised a polite young man and it was long past time that he introduce himself. He wanted very badly to know the witch’s name. if the witch did not wish to give him her name in turn, Hashirama was sure that she would not, but he would have to make the first gesture. 

 “…My name is Mito,” the witch said finally. “You may call me such.”

 Hashirama smiled, surprised by the gift. “Hello, Mito,” he said formally. Or so he tried, but was belied by delight. He bowed as well, though he was still dripping and soaked and yet standing in the sea. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 “Hello, Hashirama, though we have met before,” the witch, Mito, answered. Then she smiled.

 It took Hashirama’s breath away, just… a little.

 And not simply because she had so many teeth and they were all very sharp.

 “It’s still nice,” he said.

 The witch’s smile widened. “So it is.” She turned to look down the beach, then looked back to him. “Shall we walk together? While your soon-to-be-no-longer bride and her lover keep company? There are more pools and plants along this way of the beach. I am curious to see what green things respond to you and which do not.”

 “With the owner’s permission and company? I would be honoured,” Hashirama said.

 “I do not own the beach,” Mito answered calmly, as she turned away and stepped out of the water.

 Hashirama followed her back onto the sand, confused, because he was sure that she had said otherwise about these coasts and given him permission before.  

 “Sorry, I thought-?”

 “No one owns the beach, though it is indeed mine.”

 “I… see,” Hashirama said, though he did not. “Well... lead the way, Lady Mito.” 

 It wasn't every day that a man received the name and company of a witch, though it was starting to seem so for Hashirama. This was hardly the first time he'd felt confused by something the witch had said or done. At least now he could be assured that the sentiment was mutual. 

 


End file.
